


flickering, faltering, extinguished

by FullMetamorphosis, skydork (klismaphilia)



Category: Original Work, Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Anxiety Attacks, Arson, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Disabled Character, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fainting, Family Drama, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, Memory Alteration, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mood Swings, Multi, Murder Fantasies, Past Abuse, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence, Tragic Romance, Uneasy Allies, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: She’s like… like a figure out of a book, something so entirely fictitious that he can’t comprehend it. A livinglegend,almost. It’s the way she had stood on the roof, laughing, watching the world go up in flames around her that strikes him.And somehow it’s almost sad. Sad, and yet unbelievably beautiful, so real that ithurts.





	1. Alight

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older fic that I wrote with my dear friend TJ sometime back... we're gonna posting some stuffs next few days, so keep an eye out.

She wants to be set alight.

_ No _ , she thinks as she braces her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands.  _ You can’t, Etsuko. Not tonight. Not when everybody is on high alert. _ But god, the urge is so bad, and she finds herself shutting her eyes - all three of them - and digging nails into her forehead and temple. It’s insane. It’s absolutely insane, just how badly she  _ wants _ this, so badly that it leaves an ache in her chest like a long-cooled coal, just weighing her down. She wants to ignite it. She wants to see it erupt in reds and golds and yellows, she wants to watch it until it makes her chest glow from the inside out, until all she can smell and taste and feel is smoke, until it chokes her lungs so she can’t even scream-

“Etsuko! For the love of god, are you listening?!”

She nearly jumps out of her chair when somebody flicks her  _ third fucking eye _ , hard enough that she yelps. She puts the back of her wrist to her forehead and glares at her sister, the stupid idiot . . .

“Do I have your attention  _ now _ ?” the woman in front of her asks. She kneels down, puts her folded arms on her legs, props her chin on them. “Etsuko, I wanna go kill somebody tonight . . . I wanna do that  _ so bad _ . . .”

“D-Do you have no morals, Misha?” Etsuko asks. The urge is still fighting. She can feel herself trying to retreat inwards again. Just focusing on her sister is making her mad.

“Nah, not really. Anyways. Wanna come with? You can burn the corpse when I’m done,” she teases. Etsuko shakes her head and gets up, knocking Misha to the floor. “Hey!” is the response, but Etsuko is already walking away, hand in her pocket as she fingers her lighter, so heavy and so responsive to her every touch, making her sink . . . sink . . .

“I have other business tonight,” she says, her voice detached, as she finds herself opening the front door and walking into the night. All she can hear behind her is, “Aw, hell . . . not again,” before the door slams shut and she’s alone with the flaming stars in the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

He always tried to keep in mind the facts- that’s what… what they’d told him to do, but there weren’t all that many facts he could recount. Over time, they’d told him, but time had passed, and more time and he was still in the same fucking position he’d been in two years ago. 

He often would look at his bruised hands, blood-coated knuckles and white scars, and then he’d just tear at them more, hit his head against the wall until something would pop into his brain, just…  _ something. _ But nothing ever did. They told him to trust the facts, that as long as he cleared his head and tried, he’d be able to remember- they didn’t seem to understand that he  _ was trying,  _ had tried literally  _ everything,  _ and all to no avail. No, his head was as useless and empty as before. They thought he wouldn’t notice- the offhand glares the townspeople gave him, the muted whispers-  _ “Poor thing,”  _ some would say, others  _ “What a useless case. Imagine living like that- worthless, alone.”  _ and more often,  _ “Don’t bother with him. Dumb as a brick, that one.” _

So over time, the emptiness had developed into a tiny cycle, a game of facts that he pushed through daily, attempting to recreate.

_ You’re twenty-eight years old.  _ Proof, doctor said this.

_ You hit your head.  _ Again, said by the doctor.

_ You are presumed to have no living relatives. _ A mere consideration, shown in the fact that nobody had spoken to him with any sense of familiarity.

_ Your name is… your real name…  _

Well.

Still drawing a blank on that one. 

He’d called himself a few things- started with just ‘Amnesiac’, because that’s what the Doctor said, what the others said when they were referring to him. A short while after it was ‘Lavender’, because he’d liked the color so much. Sheriff scolded him for that one-  _a plant,_ she'd said, derisive. A short while after he’d picked Venice, like the city in Europe, the one with all the gondolas and lights. No real criticism at that point.

Regardless, it bothered him.  _ He wanted a goddamn  _ name _.  _ And there was absolutely nothing that could give him his own, nothing he could retain for long periods of time…

And so, that’s how he found himself looking at some of the stones in the graveyard, a good handful of names to choose from- last week he’d called himself Thomas, after the deceased Jester, and before that, it was Gail, after the lovely young woman who lived across from the Doctor, the one who’d resurrected the deceased Bodyguard.

But tonight… tonight there was nothing, still. No name, no idea as to what he’d done, no hint of a memory to pass through his head. It was all so empty- a blank canvas, white and untouched, but blacker still, dark enough that he could fall without any idea as to when he’d wake up, escape…  _ live. _

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t taken long to get the gas. She stored it outside of town, in a tree with a hole within in, big enough for a couple of canisters that she’d fill by emptying the Transporter’s gas tank. It was pretty close to the graveyard, too . . . just like her house. The house for her and her sisters . . .

She knows she should only take one, but she finds herself grabbing two. She can carry one in each hand, she figures, so she pulls them out and starts back to town practically in a run. She was thinking back to the last house she could think of that had been made vacant, abandoned . . . yes, she remembered. It had been the Spy’s house. He’d been killed by mafia. She remembered that well enough. All she had to worry about was if the Witch was biding her time in there - she’d hate to burn her mother into a crisp.

Or, well, anybody. But there were casualties sometimes - and she  _ really  _ hoped not to have more. She couldn’t even think of them now. They were just gone from her mind - replaced with that drive, that goddamn tension she had to relieve-

She stops near the graveyard, catching her breath. She could hardly stand the wait - she wanted to be on the rooftops  _ now _ , the scent of gasoline in her hair and her dress and  _ everywhere _ . She didn’t even want to burn two houses, even though she could . . . she wanted to be in the middle of an  _ inferno _ . She wanted to feel that heat around her, feel it lick at her skin . . . it was driving her mad. She was practically wet from the need - she even dropped one of her canisters and pressed a hand between her legs, just to see if she could tell even through her skirt.

_ Dripping _ . She moans, pulls her hand away, leans down for the canister, so desperate it makes her head spin. She’s only aware of the gasp nearby because of its sharpness, breaking through her clouded mind . . . she looks up and sees a figure in the distance, kneeling by one of the gravestones, wide-eyed . . .

She blinked, once, and nodded. And then she ran as the urges overwhelmed her.

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t think there were any words to describe what he’d felt, that sharp, jutting pain in his chest, when he looked at the woman- long red hair, a fuel canister discarded beside her. For a few brief seconds, he could barely think, as though his mind had forgotten how to form words as well- for all he knew, it might have. 

And then she was running. There one moment, gone the next- so impossibly fleeting in the scheme of the occurrences in this this town, so impossibly… _radiant._

There was nothing to say, really. For a moment, he’d wanted to call out to her- if only to feel the comfort of another human being, the… energy she’d seemed to exude, but it was quickly forgotten as his hands fumbled over weeds and dirt, arms wrapping around the headstone closest to him with a feathery sob. The Amnesiac was unsure of why he was crying, just knowing the tears as a compulsion. 

The Doctor said he needed to cry, needed to… to get rid of it, of whatever this was, whatever  _ he  _ was.

His knees went entirely numb beneath him, collapsing from under his exhausted form, his body falling forward until his head hit the dirt, and he allowed it to comfort him. He wrapped arms around himself- it was entirely too cold, and  _ I really should’ve thought about that before I went up here in these clothes.  _ The wind was whistling, and faintly, he could’ve sworn he heard a tune on it, but that simply faded into an afterthought as he let himself shake, unwavering.

He just hoped the Doctor wouldn’t find him.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t take her long to reach the house she was thinking of, the house of the deceased, and she started making quick work of it - tossing gasoline up the sides, over the front steps, down the front door . . . . she worked quickly, hoping nobody would see her as she worked, not until- not until the flames went up. Then they’d block her, protect her from those gazes, and she could let everything go just as she needed-

She emptied one canister from the ground. And then she grabbed the second and hiked up her skirt as she started scaling up one of the supports for the awning, finding herself on the roof more than easily. Her ease in parkour had always been there, always simple and ready . . . all the more to burn at her fingertips as a result.

Etsuko stood in the middle of the roof and just turned the canister upside-down. She let it leak over the roofing, down the sides, even over her skirt and shoes . . . she didn’t care how much of her clothes burned, not at that point. She just needed the light, the warmth, the flames - it didn’t matter. She was shaking with how much she needed it, even if a part of her was trying to tell her  _ don’t do it, don’t be like this, don’t hurt anybody, why didn’t I stay home- _

Her hands are shaking as she tosses the empty canister off the roof, letting it clatter to the street . . . her breath is heaving in anticipation, wanting to just light up the whole place, wanting to see it mother fucking BURN . . . burn, burn, burn . . .

She pulls the lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on before her face. The tiny flame, just as small as it was, makes a tremor shoot through her whole body, makes her resist a moan as she tries to resist setting it all alight, in that moment . . .

She can’t help it.

She opens her hands and lets the lighter drop . . . and tilts her head back as she feels it all go up in flames.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s almost too busy, in his tears, in his trembling shoulders, in his aching,  _ throbbing  _ head to notice, but when the entirety of the cemetery is suddenly bathed in a brilliant, orange light- he snaps his head up. His hair’s matted to his forehead, dirt in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care. No, he’s too focused on the intensity of the glow, those shades of orange and yellow that light up the sky of the town in a way that’s almost  _ surreal. _

He finds himself scrambling to stand, his knees banging against a headstone, hands coated in brown mud, sticky and practically impossible to shake off. But he can’t bring himself to care- not about that, or any of it. He’s entranced, practically  _ mesmerized  _ by the burning scene in front of him, the only thing in this world that seems to have any fucking  _ life  _ to it.

He’s running, then, running as fast as his skinny, weak-ankled feet can carry him, down the hillside where he tumbles, rolls a ways, shoulders knocking against the street as he makes contact with the ground, but remains undeterred. He’s struggling for footing, hasn’t even realized that his feet are bare, that he shouldn’t be running, but it was so  _ warm,  _ the heat practically seeping away from the burning building and into the air.

His feet are covered in blood, broken glass digging into his heels, into his toes and the bloodied soles of his feet, but he doesn’t mind it, couldn’t care less. No, he’s too busy staring, staring at it, at the sky, at the ground, at…  _ her.  _

But it’s not long before he finds himself pulling away, stumbling- he can’t,  _ shouldn’t  _ be here. He shouldn’t be… watching like this, but it’s… impossible not to, because at least it’s  _ real,  _ at least it’s not black or white, fuck’s sake. 

Still, he pulls himself away before he can think of anything else, praying desperately that she hadn’t seen him, wouldn’t care… he didn’t want trouble, didn’t want anything really, not until he got his memory back. Because  _ fuck if he was dying before he managed to form coherent thoughts again. Fuck him if he didn’t learn his own fucking name. _

But as the glass digs further and further into his pallid flesh, he finds himself too agonized, unable to stand… faltering and then falling on the ground, his head hitting in the same manner he’s busted it with as he realizes that he doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on.

A strangled whine echoes in the air, dying on his lips. She's _brilliant._

 

* * *

 

 

This rooftop - covered in flames - it’s goddamn  _ heaven _ . She cries out in pure  _ joy _ as the tension in her body, the goddamn  _ need _ , snaps like a rubber band at the flames rising up around her, surrounding her, leaving her on an island . . .  _ god _ , it’s so hot, so good . . .

“Yes . . . burn, BURN!” she shouts as she laughs, laughs, laughs. It’s so goddamn good, it’s absolutely- she can’t think, the relief of it is overwhelming, even when she feels flames lick at her skin, making her gasp, mild burns that would’ve been worse if she hadn’t been who she is. But she savors the warmth with a low moan, a strained gasp - she feels like she’s flying, free,  _ free _ . . .

She feels the roof under her feet begin to cave, to give way, and she steps back and walks backwards as she watches the flames, lets them reflect in her eyes . . . for as delicious as they are, she needs to go, she knows it - she can’t have people seeing, not like this. She looks behind her at the edge of the roof, and the drop below, and . . . well, she figures she can make it without breaking something.

She turns, with just a look behind her . . . envious eyes to the flames . . . before raising a single foot and-

“ _ Aack- _ !”

She doubles over and coughs  _ hard _ , grabbing at her chest, suddenly pulled free from her internal prison as she chokes on smoke, so good before but now gathering irritated in her chest . . . she puts a hand to her mouth and shuts her eyes, hard, as she tries to push it off . . . and when she leaps off the roof, at last, she lands on her feet - and tumbles to the ground, coughing so loudly the heavens could’ve heard her.

 

* * *

 

 

The coughs are what startle him, loud, heaving for breath as if they’re choking… he can hardly move his legs, but his head turns, twists in such an uncomfortable fashion he swears his neck will break- and then he can see her, lying on the ground beside the house, trying to pull herself to her feet…

She’s like… like a figure out of a book, something so entirely  _ fictitious  _ that he can’t comprehend it. it’s the way she had stood on the roof, laughing, watching the world go up in flames around her that almost strikes him. Something about this is almost sad- sad, and yet unbelievably delightful, so  _ real  _ that  it hurts. _He_ hurts, hurts for himself, watching her. Because  she knew who she was, she allowed herself to feel joy, she could do  _ anything she fucking wanted  _ and she  _ knew. _

The realization makes him feel sick, his pathetic, impuissant being in the street, staring at her when he shouldn’t be looking at all. Someone-  _ something-  _ like him shouldn’t be allowed even this close to her, this close to the mesmerizing  _ freedom _ . He should be at the graveyard, or in the Doctor’s house, hiding in his closet, knees pulled to his chest like the old days.

He should’ve remembered that he was nothing, instead of running here like this, thinking that there was a possibility, some way that this could be real, that this could be his  _ reality… _ but that was impossible. He didn’t know  _ anything,  _ and the rest of the town- everyone- they all knew  _ something, everything  _ and it’s killing him.

And so, as he watches her fall to the side, slump over in a heap on the ground, hair around her head like a halo beneath the burning house, the rain of ash… he tries to move. He tries so impossibly hard to move, and then he's limping _ ,  _ dragging himself over to her like a broken animal, his feet in such bad shape that he wants to vomit just from looking at them…

He’s pulling her up, pulling her to his chest, cradling her head, trying to get her to  _ wake up, because it’s not safe, don’t you see, they can find you, you could’ve died, what the hell were you doing, it’s not safe- _

And she’s blinking her eyes, slowly, and he can’t help letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as she shifts slightly in his grasp, looking up at him with a gaze that’s so intense he could’ve been killed from it alone…

 

* * *

 

 

When her eyes flicker open to the man above her, she thinks, at first, that she’s a in a dream. It’d be a new feeling if so - she didn’t dream much. But her eyes flicker open to a familiar figure . . . dark hair, cut short, and eyes she could drown in . . .

She recognizes him. It’s strange for her to think, but she does. He reminds her of a man in town, who went by a different name every week . . . of a woman who’d tried to blackmail her once upon a time, when there was really nothing to blackmail her with . . . even a little bit of her sisters, with the eyes . . .

He’s handsome. Not especially strong, she thinks - she can feel his hands shaking beneath her - but he looks so worried, so  _ concerned _ for her health . . . it’s sweet. She remembers him from the graveyard, the man she’d seen amongst the gravestones, with the perpetual frown but the sweet looking lips . . . but despite that, she notices he looks ill. The thought makes a tiny laugh, a harsh cough, come to her lips.

“ _ Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies, _ ” she starts singing, laying back in the luxuriousness of the dream, in the peace of it. She smiles as she sings of the ashes . . . ashes everywhere . . .

“ _ We all . . . fall . . . _ ”

She sits up and touches her lips to his.

“ _. . . down . . . _ ”

She falls out of the dream and into the dark.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not sure exactly how long it’s taken him to drag her away from the rubble, from the flames blowing smoke into the icy cold wind, so easily felt through his thin sleeves that were ripped apart from unending wear. His hands, although cut up, stray glass fragments clinging to them, have never held onto anything more tightly in his lifetime. He’s not sure how long it’s been, or where he’s taking her, but before long he finds himself in the spot he finds himself every day- right in front of the Doctor’s house, the place he always returns to despite his desire to leave.

Within seconds, he’s pounding on the door, calling for her to let him in, because fuck, he doesn’t even know if she’s okay, the way she’d jumped off that roof, fallen, her own head hit… and then, he leans down, and tries to take a closer look at her, and a shocked gasp leaves his mouth at the sight of the extra… eye. But it doesn’t deter him- when the Doctor opens the door, he’s practically shoving the woman into her arms, scrambling inside.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if she were to die, because she reminds him… in the most horrible, disgusting way, of everything that he could’ve been, everything that he  _ wants  _ to be, and fuck if he’s letting her die. He assures himself that it’s because… because she was free, like a mockingbird in the wind, and he’s spent too long sitting here in this metal cage, just watching people... people like  _ her. _

He finds himself in the closet once again that night, face buried in his knees and arms wrapped so tightly around him that he feels he’s going to break himself. He thinks of how he could just curl up here, and not move, not come out,  _ never,  _ and how he could just disappear and nobody would be the wiser… He remembers the soft press of her lips to his own, and it causes a desperate sob to break from his throat, because he doesn’t know what a kiss is supposed to be, but he doesn’t want her to waste them on him.

And when the Doctor’s hand opens the door, wraps around his shoulders, he presses his face to her chest and  _ cries. _

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn’t expect to wake up to softness around her. She knows she isn’t in her own bed, either, and she knows she isn’t even in her house. If it was, she’d certainly hear her sisters yelling at each other for who allowed her to sneak out.

She realizes quickly enough that she’s on somebody’s couch wrapped in blankets, as her eyes flicker open. She also realizes that she’s not clothed - somebody had removed her dress, probably because it was covered in gasoline. She yawns and coughs as she notices, trying to curl up more, try to go to sleep again . . .

. . . wait. Her dress - she’d spilled gasoline on it. Whoever had taken it, they’d  _ know _ .

She sits up so quickly that her chest constricts, and she curls inward as she coughs, coughs, throat hurting like hell as she tries to steady herself . . . steady . . . she hears a question somewhere to her left. She looks up as she tries to breathe again, blankets down her to hips . . . trying to focus her eyes, however bleary they are, to whatever figures are in front of her.

He’s startled when she sits up, eyes wide, coughing as she gasps for breath, looking around in a way that’s almost  _ desperate,  _ that reminds him too much of himself after the accident, after… after he’d just… lost it.

His hands are grasping hold of her shoulders before she can say anything, forcing her back again, helping her lie down because she really shouldn’t be moving, not when she looks like she’s about to pass out again, and…! He’s surprised at the concern that’s building in his chest, has to force himself away, relinquish the death grip he’s been holding on her shoulders.

She seems like she’s about to say something, but he doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear anything that could slip past her lips, doesn’t want to hear what she says  _ when she notices him.  _ It can’t be anything good, nothing he’d want to hear, but… but…

He doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words, and so he storms from the room, leaving the woman in the careful hands of the doctor, but he can’t help himself from sticking about just outside the door, trying to listen, to see what she… what she says. Maybe it’s bad of him, he really shouldn’t want to hear her voice, because he doesn’t want to break the illusion he’d fabricated in his mind…

He runs a hand through his hair, before pulling it down and across his eyelids, shaking his head to try and clear it of the muddled thoughts, the neverending stream of them… he’s always thought too much, always…

He can’t help his conscience from screaming at him, harsh whispers and those god-awful words that he’s been hearing since he woke up after the incident, and he wants them out- he forces the door open again, but doesn’t enter the room. No, he can’t- he shouldn’t… he just… _he needs help, he needs someone…_

“Hold on! Don’t ru- oh, goodness,” the woman before her sighs and puts a hand to her head. “What am I going to do with him . . .? Are you okay?”

Etsuko blinks once, twice. Then: “who’s ‘he’?”

“The Amnesiac. Doesn’t have a name yet. Doesn’t talk much, but . . . anyways . . .” she leans down and pulls the blankets up from where Etsuko had let them stay - it makes her feel too warm, but she doesn’t bother trying to move them, not when she hurts enough. “I’m Elisa, the Doctor. The Amnesiac found you last night and brought you here. Said you jumped from a roof?”

So he’d actually been there . . .? She’d  _ kissed _ him, not just as a dream? Oh, gosh . . . she sighs and closes her eyes. “Um . . . yes,” she says, trying to find a way to compose a lie that she was sure,  _ sure _ , the Doctor would look through anyways. “I woke up and my house was on fire, at the ground floor. I climbed to the roof to escape, but it was moving so fast . . . I leapt off the roof hoping I could make it, but I’d inhaled a lot of smoke and I stumbled . . .”

The Doctor nods. “Yes, he did mention that. You had gas on your dress, too. Makes sense, for the most part . . .”

“Wh-Where are my sisters? Natasha, and Misha . . .”

“Haven’t gotten in touch with them yet. Been treating you the last few hours, so I haven’t had time to tell anybody. You’d be . . . yes, one of her sisters . . .” she mutters under her breath as she puts a hand to her face. “I’m rambling. You still seem unwell, so rest for a while, alright? I’ll go let the town know about your absence, and about the arsonist.”

“W-Wait-” she tries to struggle upwards as the Doctor begins to leave. “Wh-where’s the Amnesiac? The one who found me . . .?”

“Don’t worry - I’ll have him check in on you. Just relax,” she says as she opens the door - seemly surprised as she looks in - before calming her expression and exiting the room.

He’s surprised when the door is thrown open, practically hitting him as he moves back and out of the Doctor’s way. He doesn’t have much of an idea what to say, not even as he makes eye contact with her, and says, “Please.” Because he doesn’t… he doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t want to be around her, not alone…

He can’t help the jutting feeling that runs through his chest, his back, up and down his spine as he manages to curve around the doorway ever so slightly. His eyes focus in on her- lying there, tugging her blankets back down in a way that automatically causes his cheeks to flush, but he’s seen worse. He wants to ask her why she was doing this, why she’d… burned everything, who she was, what she wanted. Instead, he has to drag in a breath, as he walks into the room, and gives her a quick glance.

“Y-you’re… o-okay?” He asks, hesitantly, not sure whether she’ll… snap at him, or say something, because why shouldn’t she say something? She’d want a doctor here, not an idiot- or one of her sisters, not a stranger with a fucking  _ empty head.  _ Nonetheless, he attempts to stay beside her, attempts to… to listen to her, but it’s all too much, and his head is spinning. He doesn’t know why it’s so different- the Doctor’s had plenty of patients over before, and he hadn’t been as resistant to any of them as he was to this woman…

He couldn’t even bring himself to be fazed by her appearance, although almost everything she did was enough to make his throat clench. He didn’t understand… didn’t understand how she was so  _ strong,  _ while he was just a bundle of nerves… He swallows, letting his eyes move away from the floor for all of two seconds, before he’s dropping his head again, staring at his feet, at the bloodied bandages covering them, the pain whenever he walked that he barely noticed if he wasn’t thinking about it… he clenches his battered hands into fists, hoping she’s not looking at the bloody knuckles or cuts or wounds from his own fingernails, the bruised surface… he doesn’t want her to see… how pathetic he is.

She watches him as he walks back in, looking completely nervous and frayed at the edges. His hands and feet are bandaged, but he kept picking at the ones he could reach, even when he sits. His eyes dart around restlessly, first to the floor, the wall, her face, back to the floor. She was used to people staring at her third eye, of course . . . it wasn’t necessarily normal, after all, but just another gift her Witch had given her.

However . . .

“Nerves don’t suit you,” she says as the Amnesiac looks up, seemingly stunned. “You should look more confident. You’d wear it better. Your clothes would, too,” she adds.

She wants to sit up, and even tries to push herself up again. She can feel his hands trying to push her back down, and her own chest is aching as she keeps coughing into her fist, but she elbows him off and manages to sit upright, leaning against the couch as she lets her breath settle. She doesn’t feel like she could stay - for as well as the lie had worked, it wouldn’t take long before the Amnesiac told the Doctor everything, the truth - and then she’d be in real trouble. After all, she didn’t want to hurt anybody . . . they had been accidents . . . and she really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to die.

She looks back towards the Amnesiac, staring at her so nervously, as if caught in a web . . . she laughs, slightly, before leaning against the couch and letting her head tilt to her shoulder. “You were watching the flames too, weren’t you . . .?” she asked. For as fuzzy as it all was, for as  _ glorious _ as those flames were, the familiar feeling that always sank in after her fires was beginning to settle in her gut: regret.

His heart began to thud at that last comment… had she seen him, had she realized, had she… was she angry? Was she mad that he’d watched her, setting that blaze of glory, watched her joy at the flames that lit up the sky?

“I’m s-sorry,” he says, finally, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He didn’t want her to think… to think the worst of him. he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, and felt almost guilty at the thought of it. He didn’t even understand  _ why  _ he’d chased those flames, why he’d stood there, walked through the glass, unable to tear himself away from it.

He glanced up at her again, his own eyes impossibly wide and open, certain that they revealed just about every emotion that was running through his body now. His thoughts were all pointing in the same direction-  _ you’re foolish, disgusting even. Why would you do something like that to her? She doesn’t want to look at you, don’t you understand that? She hates you- for bringing her here. She doesn’t want to be here. She definitely doesn’t want to be around you. Pathetic, you are, really. What would the Doctor say? _

It doesn’t take long before he’s backing away, his injured foot catching on the edge of a chair, falling onto the ground before pulling himself back up, slamming the door open as he tries not to focus on her, tries to… to make her quit staring because it was awful, it hurt him, hurt him to even try and look at her, to think that she’d want to talk to him…

“Hold on,” she says as she sees him back away, trying to escape. Her eyes narrow. “I’m not mad, you know. There’s no need to be so . . . nervous. You can come back.”

He isn’t moving . . . not moving away, but not moving any closer. Dammit. His eyes are so wide, so frightened . . . it occurs to her that he was just like everybody else - scared of her, because of her appearance and because of how suddenly she’d appeared, waking up one morning among her sisters beneath the lynching stand-

She sighs and tries to pin him down with her eyes, will him to stay put, as she slowly pulls her legs down and stands. It makes her head spin - she still feels like she can’t get enough oxygen to her lungs - and she slowly crosses the room and attempts to make it to him without falling over.

By the time she’s above him, he’s pale, lower-lip quivering - eyes going from her hip to her face. She’s not surprised - her hair is pretty red, anyways - so she leans down and holds out her hand to him.

“You don’t need to be scared of me,” she says, simply. “I’ve only just met you.”

“Y-you don’t… hate… m-me?” The Amnesiac stutters, looking up at her, wide-eyed. Her hair’s so long, such a bright red that it’s almost startling, and the way she’s extended her hand to him… no, she doesn’t hate him, he thinks, but gives her a glance anyway to affirm it…

Hesitantly, he reaches forward with his own bandaged hand, letting it rest in her’s as he begins to pull himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving her face. Despite the… unusual third eye, he can’t help but think how pretty she looks. It’s almost shocking, to have someone like her look at him with something other than… pity? Shame? Exasperation?

He can tell that she’s observing him, almost, maybe even sizing him up, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from her face, his head shaking, biting down on his lower lip as he shivers. He’s not surprised to find blood coming from it as he tears at the flesh with his teeth, but it does make him feel a bit ashamed under her gaze. 

He wonders if she… if she feels the same way, because he’s not used to the company of strangers, not used to anything like this. He’s not familiar with anyone, not aside from the Doctor, and even then…

He takes in a deep breath, and for a second, she looks as though she’s about to fall over. His eyes widen at this, and he grabs her, trying to force her away, get her to… to lie down again, because she clearly isn’t well, and then he’s noticing just how  _ intimate  _ their positions are.

It hadn’t really stuck him before, that she was naked, that she was clearly… he didn’t know. He didn’t even want to think about that, to be honest, even though she was really… pretty, and he didn’t know when he’d be in this situation again. Instead, he pulls himself to his feet, walks off in the direction of his room to grab her some clothing… he feels exposed around her just looking at her, when she’s so… open like this. Although she didn’t seem to mind- but in good conscience, he really couldn’t have a woman walking around, entirely naked, in the house he basically lived in.

She’s grateful when he catches her, and she mutters a quiet “thank you,” as he lowers her to the floor and lets her sit. He leaves quickly, before she can even stop him - she tries to raise her voice, trying to tell him to come back, but her chest constricts once more, and she’s too occupied with trying to breathe to do anything.

At least when she’s done and looks up, he’s back, extending a long shirt and pants to her. How kind. “Thank you,” is all she says, and though she can’t pull on the pants - she doesn’t have enough strength to do the finagling  _ that _ would require - she pulls the shirt over her head and down to cover her hips. She reaches back and pulls her hair free with a flip that makes her whole head feel light, blood red fanning around her . . . until she feels it settle around her shoulders again.

“I guess I’m not getting back to that couch yet . . .” she says as she reaches down and pulls the Amnesiac back to the floor. “You’re the Amnesiac, then . . . I hope you don’t expect me to call you that all the time. I much prefer names. I could call you . . . Etienne. I think that’s a name. Sort of pretty, like you.”

She curls her leg up and balances an arm on it, looking him over again, his black hair and dark eyes and . . .  _ god _ , he was tall.  _ Really _ tall. She bit her lip. It was almost attractive, she thinks . . . though she wouldn’t know much about that, she supposes.

“So,” she says, voice rasping again with the reminder of smoke in her lungs, “Why were you around the house, anyways . . .?”

Her voice is raspy, almost unsteady, and he wonders if it was smoke inhalation that really did the worst number on her. He stops in the middle of that thought, barely listening to the words that had left her mouth as he finds himself walking out of the room, running some water from the tap a room over, returning with it in a tiny mug that he places onto the ground next to her. He gives a quick glance to her face, and then the way she’s positioned herself and…

His face brightens just a bit, but he tries not to let on. He hurriedly pulls his eyes away, and sits next to her again, watching as she takes the water and raises it to her lips.

“T-that’s a nice name,” he says, finally, looking over at her. “I l-like it. What...what’s your name?” He’s pleasantly surprised that the sentence seems more organized than his usual sentences, and he runs the last thing she’d said through his brain again. Why was he there…? What on earth had actually possessed him to… to run there, to stay…?

He shook his head a little at the thought, but raised his eyes to meet her face again, surprisingly undistracted by all of her oddities. He almost wants to tell her how pretty he thinks she is, how he wished he’d known her before… before his accident. But he doesn’t know how to put anything into words, and so he just presses his back to the wall, heaves a sigh, and looks over at her. He knows he should really be going, really shouldn’t be here- he should be out there, making use of himself, searching for his identity…

“My name is Etsuko,” she says. “My sisters are Natasha and Misha . . . the Escort, and a Survivor,” she adds. It just feels right to mention her sisters when she introduces herself, for as close as they are, and how well-knit . . . they, of course, looked far more  _ normal _ than she did, and certainly spoke more than she. Natasha, of course, had been the original of them, the only one - that is, until she passed under the Witch’s window one night and had awoken with two siblings to her name.

She sips at the water, letting it soothe her throat, cool and refreshing after all of the fire last night. That fire . . . she shivers at the thought. “You shouldn’t have seen what happened last night,” she says, with a pause. “I try not to let myself do that very often. People think there’s . . . that there’s an arsonist.”

She doesn’t say much more than that. She looks down at her toes and sips at her water again, her mind beginning to swarm with questions. She’d been so  _ stupid _ , going out there and starting that fire . . . she was certainly more immune to fire than most, since she was an obvious product of the Witch, but she wasn’t immune to smoke - something she’d learned only last night. Still, though, she’d been careless - Etienne, after all, had seen her. But he hadn’t said anything, had he . . .?

“I was wondering what happened to my dress,” she says as she gazes into her mug. “You didn’t tell the Doctor anything, did you? I . . . don’t need people knowing that I like to set fires. You won’t tell, right?”

“H-haven’t told anyone,” the Amnesiac says, taking a deep breath. There’s a lot he’s wanting to ask her- about why she sets fires, about who she is, about why she’s willing to talk to him when nobody else is… about that kiss… “I p-promise… I won’t, o-okay?” He’s annoyed with the sound of his own voice- it makes him sound like a broken record, all the stuttering and spluttering, and he can’t help turning his head away from her again, hiding his eyes, along with a slight blush.

“I should… go.” He says, finally, drawing in a sharp breath, and preparing to stand again, when her hand wraps around his wrist, resting there- not a harsh grip, but soft, easy to shake off if he wanted to, and yet…

He doesn’t know if he should look at her- at Etsuko- again, but he eventually lets himself relax, returning her gaze, his own dark eyes meeting her brilliant orbs, and he allows a shaky breath. If she wanted him to… to stay, not to leave, then… he wouldn’t leave. How could he, if she wanted him here? 

He chokes momentarily, remembering the previous night, and finally works up the courage needed to ask- “W-why did… did you k-kiss me?” He asks, raising his eyes to meet hers again, her own surprisingly honest as he stares into them, swallowing to ease the dryness in his throat. Because, if he has to be entirely honest, he kind of… kind of wants her to do it again. Or to kiss her… if she gave him permission.

She’s glad enough that he doesn’t leave when she takes his wrist. He still looks so uncomfortable, so . . . uneasy. If only he’d show some  _ confidence _ . Though, knowing what she did, it was no wonder he was so uncertain. He was missing half of his childhood, half his damn  _ life _ . . .

In a strange way, she sort of understood. She never had the chance to grow up. She’d woke up for the first time as she was, looking twenty and with no other history . . . but then again, she’d never  _ had _ a history prior to that. She didn’t need it. But then again, she wasn’t normal.

When he asks her about the kiss, though, she finds herself blushing . . . putting a hand to her cheek. “I . . . thought it was a dream,” she admits, keeping her eyes level as she looks at him and his widening eyes. “You were handsome, and I didn’t think it was real. But I was also . . . aroused. The fire does things for me that it doesn’t for others.”

She moves her fingertips to her lips. “Your lips looked soft . . . and they were. But I didn’t think of consequences or what-ifs or if I was actually sleeping. I just wanted to kiss you. So I did.”

It’s not a great answer, but it’s the best one she has. He still looks alarmed, though, as if her answer hadn’t been satisfactory . . . she’s not the best with that kind of reassurance, with what to say. She’d been told, once, that she was at once the most polite and most rough of her sisters. Perhaps that was because she almost  _ always _ carried a note of hostility in her voice, but regardless . . .

“It was good,” she adds as an afterthought. “You were soft, warm. It was a nice kiss. I’d gladly do it again.”

“You j-just… do what you want, don’t y-you?” He asks, glancing at her briefly, a bit frustrated at the concept. It was like she… like everyone was just able to do what they wanted, to know who they were, what they loved, what they desired, what they were good at… and her siblings were probably the same way; he wondered if he’d had siblings, if he’d had a job. He knew he must have parents, somewhere. Had he been in love?

He tries to bury the hint of jealousy he feels inside his chest, tries to keep it from popping back out of his throat, those words that held such a… contemptuous intonation. He focuses back on the matter at hand, at whatever she’d said- she’d said she’d do it again? Did she mean it? It was hard to tell just by looking at her, but she was somewhat blunt- he didn’t see her lying about something like that.

He presses closer to her, just ever so slightly, and hesitantly positions his face beside hers, so that their breaths are mingling, so that she’s looking up at him through red eyelashes, and he tries to let himself give her something, an expression other than a frown. It doesn’t take any more time than that before he’s pressing his lips to hers again, the soft feel of her mouth against his, the way her lips part ever so slightly… it’s just as mesmerizing as the fire had been.

She doesn’t expect the kiss, for their breaths to go from mingling to mixed, so quickly. All three of her eyes had been fluttering, nearly closed, but they all opened wide when their lips met again, and she honestly . . . honestly doesn’t know how to react.

Her minds are still stuck at his words: “you do what you want”. She wishes she could tell him differently,  _ god _ she wishes she could explain it to him, how . . . overtaken she was by the fire, how she  _ literally _ couldn’t resist it . . . but how could she ever explain it, when she didn’t understand it herself? It was . . . an urge. An urge as primal and as confusing as it was the urge to kiss.

So she lets herself kiss back, even raise a hand to touch his cheek, brush against his cheekbone and into his hair . . . she’s so occupied by his warmth that she doesn’t notice how he’s moving, how unbalanced both of them are, and she’s surprised as he falls atop her, knocking her to the floor and pushing one of his legs between hers, knee nearly touching her center.

They pull away when they fall, looking at each other cautiously . . . for as ignorant as she is to modesty, she  _ knows _ how awkward  _ this _ position is, and she remembers it well. After all, her sisters weren’t related by blood, and they’d  _ experimented _ enough . . . but like this, underneath a man? It’s just as good - and makes her heart pound just as much.

She can feel her cheeks turning red, and she has to tilt her head to the side as she lets out a single, smoky cough. But then she looks back to him, and can’t help but smile, as she says, “I think I like it when you’re  _ frustrated _ with me.”

He has to try and muffle a slight laugh at that, but nonetheless, he pressed down, kissing her again, working up the courage to press his tongue past lips and slide it against tooth and tongue. He hears a tiny gasp as he does so, and pulls back, giving her an almost-smile himself. 

His tongue runs over his own lips as he stares down at her, that blood red hair, spread out along the floor- it almost reminds him of the previous night. She’s entirely too beautiful, all of her- he doesn’t know why he’d never noticed her before. In a sense, just being around her… it’s freeing in and of itself. He wonders just why that is… he wonders… if she can help him remember.

“C-can I?” He asks, and is easily given permission with a quick nod, as his lips find her collarbone, as they press to pale skin, teeth nipping at the exposed flesh, her back arching upward at just the simple touch. His hands curve around her, one along her spine, the other caressing that long, beautiful hair. He hopes he isn’t escalating it too much, he thinks- he’s never been with a woman like this, not that he remembers, and it was more than likely that he wouldn’t be after this.

He almost wants to tell her, to tell her the way he admires her, the way he thinks that it’s entirely too beautiful, the fact that she allows herself to be the person she wants, to be free, to live, heedless of boundaries- he doesn’t know how to. Instead, he presses another kiss to her neck, along the side of her throat, not attempting to escalate it beyond that- he’s content just to kiss, to bask in the heat radiating from her body, in the way she smiles at him, a way nobody’s looked at him before.

_ So this is what he’s like with a little cajoling _ , she thinks before his lips come into contact with her collar, sucking so fervently she arches with a cry she can’t keep in her throat. “E-Etienne,” is all she can stammer, as he layers kisses up her neck, nibbling and sucking and biting . . . she can feel her mind going fuzzy.

When he grazes soft fingers against her spine - when he pulls on her hair hard enough that most people would’ve been hurt - she can’t stop herself from arching into him, from gasping loud enough to sound like a cry. She knows she should be quiet, she  _ knows _ , and she doesn’t want to push him, but- she takes in a shaky breath and lets it out just as badly. Even with her eyes closed, she can feel his gaze on her, surprised, almost as if trying to gauge her again.

“I’m f-fine,” is all she stammers out for a moment, before opening her eyes just slightly and adding, “My sp-spine . . . and my hair. They’re s-sensitive,” she whispers. He brushes a finger along the small of her back - as if to test it - and she bites her lip and trembles in his grasp. “I-I didn’t say that for you to  _ tease _ ,” she says, but she hates how weak it sounds in conviction, how it sounds like she wants it  _ more _ instead of wanting the teasing.

(She can’t help but admit to herself that it’s true, she really doesn’t want it to stop, she actually loves it - but she can feel how wet she is already, dampness gathering in between her curls, and she doesn’t want to alert him to that, not if he doesn’t want to go so far.)

He’s surprised he isn’t turning red- at the way he’s touching her so intimately, their close proximity, their intense contact… it’s enough to raise a tiny whimper from his own lips, one that he’s entirely too aware of, one that sends a shiver down his own spine as he pulls her- Etsuko- closer to him, their bodies pressed against each other.

He’s almost ashamed at how much that feeling of desire in his chest has escalated, how much he… he wants her. He’s not really sure what he should do at this point, either- he’d not gotten past all that much in those anatomy books he’d stolen from the Doctor. He knows if he had his memories… if he had his memories, he’d know about physical contact, about romance, but… words on paper… they were meaningless.

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s not sure how he should continue this, because he likes kissing her-  _ really  _ likes it- and he likes her company and she made him feel appreciated… and he’s never felt appreciated before. So he settles for pressing his mouth to her cheek, gently, and pulling her closer still. He hopes she’ll understand what he’s trying to say, how he… needs incentive, direction from her.

He doesn’t want to give this up, though. He knows that much, at least.

She gets the message simply enough - or, at least, she hopes she does. “You . . . want to keep going,” she states, simply. She lets him respond with a slight nod, an agreement. “You . . . don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she whispers, “I know this is different. But . . .”

She licks her lips. She really,  _ really _ wants him to help her, to help her reach that spike again . . . she would’ve thought the night before had been enough, dancing in the flames and letting that tension in her body  _ snap _ . . . but she sits up a little, letting the Amnesiac lean back, so she can let him see as she snakes a hand between her legs.

“I-I can show you,” she whispers. Her vision is hazy, blurred - but she knows the way, how she lets her delicate fingers part vibrant red curls until she’s sliding fingers against her clit, between her lips . . . she lets out a shaky moan, so feminine she thinks she’s going to turn bright red as a result. She bites her lip as she plays with her clit, trying to let him see, and not just hide from his view . . .

“I-It’s different for each person,” she stammers, “B-But I like it like this . . .” she swallows dryly as she reaches down, pushes fingers inside herself, curls- she arches hard, head tossed back, with a “oh my  _ god _ -” as she lets out another shaking moan.

He can’t help the shudder that escapes him as he watches her slide a hand between her slightly spread legs, pushing fingers against herself,  _ into _ herself, her head tilting back as she lets out breathless moans, teasing whimpers, sighs… He knows that his cheeks must be bright red, that he must be shaking, and he can’t help letting out a gasp of his own as her other hand reaches for him, and he finds himself obliging her.

His hands slip under the shirt he’d lent her, working it up smooth arms and over her head, before his hands caress her sides, her ribs, her breasts too gently for it to be anything but real, and it was like his body was going into overdrive just at the thought of Etsuko  _ wanting him.  _ He lets his tongue trail over her chest, before taking a pink bud between his lips, tongue teasing the small bud gently as his own fingers press lower, sliding over her own hand.

He inhales, shakily, and exhales with a shudder running through his entire body as he slides a finger into her body, shocked at how  _ easily  _ she takes him in, how much she seems to want this… he can’t help looking down at her, worried, but she gives a slight moan in response, trying to encourage him. Etienne takes the incentive, sliding a second finger into her tight body, pressing between her slick walls, a heavy sigh escaping him as he looks down at her.

“Y-you… you’re s-so beautiful,” he finally whispers. “Ev-everything about you, Etsuko.”

“ _ Unf . . . _ a-and you think you’re not? Why else would I have-” she can’t finish her sentence as a loud moan slides past her lips, her body trembling as she feels a third finger slide into her, curling a lot harsher than she ever would’ve dared . . . she wraps her hands around his shoulders and digs her nails in, trying to steady breath before she goes entirely overboard and comes apart against him.

He’s so good at this, despite what he might’ve said - he’s warm, and his hands are so goddamn merciless, and when he trails his mouth down her breasts and even stops to suck at a rosy bud -  _ god _ , it drives her crazy. Even when his free hand drags soft touches down her spine, she’s trying not to buck against him, trying not to seem completely helpless and useless.  _ Says the one hanging on for dear life _ , she realizes, but she bites her lip and tries to fight back, as much as she can . . .

She reaches down and starts undoing his jeans, popping the button open and unzipping so he can feel his boxers, as well as the hard length beneath it. “M-May I?” she asks, and she gets those wide eyes ( _ fuck _ , but they’re hot), and a tiny nod. She lets her hands slip between folds, enough to tuck fingers around his length, trying to focus on the motions as well as her own goddamn pleasure.

The truth is, she’s never done this either - not with a man, at least, not with this type of . . . erm, equipment. But she knows the gist of it, so she trails her fingers up and down his cock, satisfied at each tremor of his body . . . it makes her ache, and gasp as he curls his fingers  _ harder _ .

If she wasn’t careful, he’d consume her like a flame. And for as good as setting them off as she was, she had no idea how to put them out.

He almost goes into shock as her fingers slip past his waistband, pushing beneath the line of his underwear to grasp his length. It causes a hazy moan to slip from his lips, his hips bucking forward as she drew her fingers along it, teasingly, and he can’t help speeding up his motions, his fingers spreading her further, scissoring her as he pushes them in, fully sheathes them until he can hear her panting against the floor beneath him. 

Her hand grasps him roughly, and a low whine escapes his mouth, trying to focus on the task and tand and not… not get too caught up in his own pleasure. But his head practically blanks as she gives him a rough jerk, his body responding eagerly, pressing closer to her, one leg still settled between her thighs.

He returns to laying kisses along her neck, before his mouth slips lower and lower, until he has a perfect view of blood red curls and  _ god, he can’t believe he’s touching her like this, so incredibly intimately that he doesn’t have words…  _ His fingers stay steady, but he still allows his lips to press to her wet folds, her slick body, letting tongue tease around the edges of her most intimate space as he glances up at her. He knows he should probably ask- it’s okay for him to do this, right?- but the look on her face just leads him to continue.

Her leg is pressing up between his own, hand having slipped free when he’d decided to move lower, and he can feel her knee situated against the bulge in his pants. A shaky breath escapes him, but he lets her… lets her touch him without really doing so. He can’t help feeling like he’s doing everything wrong, but he knows he won’t forget this- memories of sweat and skin-on-skin, pleasure and intimacy and Etsuko’s bright red hair, the expression she made as her face contorted with desire…

She doesn’t expect him to go down on her - this was so new to both of them, she wasn’t going to push him, not that she didn’t  _ want _ him to go farther - but when his lips slide along hers, nestling against her clit, she can’t help but gasp, arch, grab a handful of her own hair to pull as she lies back against the floor and moans.

“E-Etienne,” she gasps. She can barely press her knee between his legs, trying to stimulate him, making him as crazy as her - but dear lord, it’s so good. He keeps curling his fingers so viciously, trailing hot breaths along her . . . she shuts her eyes hard as she arches again, feeling her own body trembling as she tries, so hard, to try and reciprocate, even for as subtle as her motions are against him.

She can see the lights already, flickering at the center of her vision - she’s not sure how to hold on, only that her eyes are flying open and she’s reaching down to grab his hair, and her gasps are shaking like crazy as she tries not to come undone. “E-Etienne,” she forces out, only to be swallowed by another moan. “G-God, I’m going to- I’m-”

She pulls a hand back up and bites her wrist as she tries to stay together, tries not to let go . . .

His eyes are entirely focused on her face when she succumbs to the physiological pleasure, her back arching, neck exposed as she throws her head back, teeth digging into her other wrist so impossibly hard he feels he should be concerned about it. He presses his fingers deeper, letting them curl, causing another tremor to run through her body, her hands tangling in his hair, around his shoulders.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful that it’s almost unreal. He admires all of her like this, all of her exposure, all of her charm, all of her beauty both skin deep, inwardly and the breathless sound of her voice. Her eyes match with his own and almost instantly, he finds himself pulling backwards, away from her, unable to worry about his sticky hands or sweaty face, just opting to lie back on the floor next to her. She’s almost tiny in comparison to him, he thinks, and extends an arm, wrapping it around her shoulders.

Then, he realizes the state of her dress and… awkwardly coughs. “You should.. uh… m-maybe you should put some clothes b-back on?”

“I-I . . . guess so,” she stammers, still high as a cloud . . . but his arms are warm, at least, and she’d rather not move away if she doesn’t have to. Strangely enough, she’s more than comfortable around him, despite everything . . . and if he wasn’t going to tell anybody, sell her out, then she was glad enough for his company.

She manages to sit up and grab the clothes he’d laid out for her, somewhat relieved to have clothes on again. They were warmer than being bare to the air . . . though somehow, she prefered his arms. She stops and looks him over again, the two of them locking eyes. It’d been a whirlwind of a day, already . . . first with the flames, and then  _ him _ . . .

“Listen,” she starts, keeping her gaze steady as she speaks. “If you ever want to meet up again, even if just for company . . . I’d really like to-”

She’s cut off by the sound of the front door nearly slamming open, and the door to the hallway flying open- and then she’s nearly knocked down to the floor again by hugging arms.

“Where the hell WERE you?!” Natasha is practically trying to stangle and hug her at the same time, and Misha’s just about doing the same (except with a grin on her face). “You could’ve been killed! What the hell?!”

“I had business,” she starts, only to let out a cough. “It’s fine, I’m okay, just got caught up with the arsonist-”

“How mean of them, then,” Misha teases - and receives a glare for that.

Etsuko looks away, back to Etienne, the Amnesiac . . . the one who’d saved her, the one she’d laid with . . . and, for once in a long while, she gave him an honest, genuine smile.

**She wouldn’t feel bad leaping off a burning roof again, if he was going to catch her. **


	2. Words Like Blood

He almost feels embarrassed at the number of times he’s thought about her in the past few weeks. Long, blood red hair and pale skin, her oddities all so beautiful in the most unique way… it’s silly, he knows, but it’s okay because it’s  _ Etsuko,  _ and he can’t deny that thinking about her is at least a good pastime.

It’s not like he has all that much to do nowadays anyway- ever so often, he finds himself wandering still, mindlessly almost. It drives him absolutely fucking crazy- that he still doesn’t have an inkling as to who he is. But he’s not just ‘the Amnesiac’ anymore. He’s Etienne. And he has her to thank for that- even though at times he finds himself entirely too put out, overwhelmingly  _ jealous  _ of her spirited personality.

It’s not fair, he often thinks, that he’s been gifted with this reality, a head injury and a mind full of empty spaces.  _ Because nobody can give you back your useless goddamned memories,  _ he remembers someone saying at one point- the Sheriff, perhaps, after he’d found himself in a sobbing mess out in town square while she was returning from an interrogation. But time had passed since then… 

Time that was useless. Time that  _ didn’t fucking matter because he was still dumb as a fucking brick. _

It’s probably a bad thing, asking her to meet him on a night when the town’s on high alert- everyone searching for the mafia, the Arsonist they think will destroy them all… he knows better. He knows that Etsuko isn’t that type of person… she just has urges. It wasn’t any different than himself, who spent long periods of time walking through the graveyard and sitting before headstones. And he trusted her- maybe a bit foolishly, but he found himself able to believe almost anything she told him. It was… escapism, perhaps…

Etienne would be lying if he said he didn’t want to escape once in awhile… because with Etsuko… he was  _ somebody.  _ He had a name, a personality, a friend…  _ lover,  _ even. And it was a comfort, amongst all things, one that he wouldn’t revoke even if it meant being killed. He needed her… he wondered if she needed him too. Not that it mattered anyway- nobody really needed him. He was  _ useless.  _ There was barely a point in him being here…

He let out a sigh, breath a light fog in the darkness and cold air of the night. He just… sometimes he felt like it wasn’t worth it. Whoever he was- Etienne, the Amnesiac- he wasn’t getting his memories back.

He just couldn’t accept it.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a goddamn relief to hear from him, after his radio silence for the last few weeks. Truth be told (though she couldn't say it aloud thanks to a troublesome sister), she found herself actually giving a damn about him, little Etienne, only named thus because of her tired stupor when she'd been with the doctor. Something about him drew her. Maybe because they were both outcasts without pasts, nearly isolated . . .

But besides that, she wondered if she might . . .know something. It'd been bothering her all week, ever since she noticed a strange connection, similar appearances, constant glances only she seemed to pick up . . . Oh, she'd always been attuned to her surroundings, especially with the risks she took, but this . . . She wondered if she should've noticed it at all.

So when he asked her to join him one night - via a note slipped under her door - she decided to take the risk, the exact reason why she was walking to the graveyard on bare feet, hands itching, conflict trapped in her mind.

He spotted her easily- a vivid, bright color amongst the darkness of the town and the dim lighting of the graveyard. Of course, she’d never been difficult to spot- someone who stood out in almost any given situation, whether it be around town or in someone’s house. She just had… a way of capturing people’s attention.

He’d never been that way in the least. Although it could be debated that vanishing into the background was better… he’d never enjoyed it. If he’d thought himself able, he would’ve tried to project himself a little more… maybe it would’ve helped in the long run. Hell, there were a lot of things that might have helped. But ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ weren’t going to do anything for him now…

He dug his nails into the skin of his own palm, biting his lip so roughly he could feel a bit of blood trickling out from the wound. It was metallic, sharp on his tongue. He wondered if he should call out to her, let her know exactly where he was- there was no doubt she wouldn’t see him, not in this atmosphere. Yet instead, he swallows, choking on his own voice and keeping it hidden away for himself.

He already thinks it a mistake- to have called her out here, to have forced her to come all this way for a meaningless, abrupt exchange that he’s not even sure of… he glances to the ground, the dirt under his fingernails, and then back up to her.

“Etsuko,” he gasps out, not particularly loud, and he’s sure she didn’t hear the muted voice, faded in passing. 

He pulls his knees to his chest quickly, still seated in the dirt, completely unmoving as she finally spots him. Her eyes focus on him briefly before she walks across the cemetery in short, brusque strides. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out... he simply gestures with his eyes for her to sit down if she pleases.

"Etienne," she starts. He looks worse for wear than usual, the bags under his eyes pronounced, slouch even more tired. He's wearing the same outfit he'd lent her weeks before - at least, she thought. It was hard to tell with his dark, boring wardrobe.

She blinks at him, once, before sitting across from him. "You look tired, Etienne," she says as she brushes feet with him. "And you look skinny, too. Are you eating well? Resting? There are enough killers here anyways. You need to conserve your strength."

She finds herself brushing her hair back, trying to hide shaking hands and a nervous tick . . . He was so quiet, was always so quiet, and it rather scared her, she had to admit. She can still remember looking up at him the night they met, his strong eyes filled with determination, even when she seemed crazy in his arms. That, and the way he changed when he was frustrated with her, when he spoke and said what he truly thought . . . If only he'd do that now. If only she could push him to it.

"So," she says as she leans back and twirls a length of hair around her finger, "I hope you brought me up here for more than the creepy atmosphere . . ."

He can’t meet her eyes, not even as she’s speaking. All he can do is inhale and exhale slowly, his breath soft, yet frozen in the cold. When she stops talking, trails off, awaiting a response, he barely whispers, “Y-you sound so c-concerned about me…” in a somewhat joking manner, before he takes a deep gasp of air, and meets eyes with her for the first time in weeks.

She looks honest, more open than he can bring himself to be, although he’s been told his face is an open book for emotion. His eyes though- most have said they’re guarded, or completely blank. It’s fitting, he thinks, with a slight quirk of his lips. He doesn’t have anything to remember, any history, any secrets- a blank slate, just like what his eyes seem to convey.

“I… j-just… I wanted to s-say goodbye…” He coughs, trying to cover up his words as he looks up at her. Because he can’t hide it not at this point. He’d been thinking about leaving- just disappearing from Salem, moving on with his life in a different way- for awhile now. It even concerned the Doctor, especially when she’d asked him what he planned to do with himself.

He didn’t really know… but he knew that there was something somewhere that would help him remember… and he didn’t want anyone from his past to be there when he did. Because there was that god-awful, stinging pang of agony in his chest at the notion… that he wasn’t what they would’ve wanted him to be, nothing good, just... 

Well, there were other times for thoughts, he figured, raising his eyes beneath his veiled lashes to stare at Etsuko again, before he’s heaving himself to his feet, pants covered in dirt. He attempt to brush himself off, before extending a hand to her. “W-we can w-walk… if y-you want to… t-talk about it.”

"Leaving?" She practically leaps to her feet, finding herself suddenly more angry than she'd wanted even him to be. "So I suspect this is a goodbye to the lovely lady then, isn't it? Why disappear without causing some drama along the way? No, that's not-" she slaps her forehead for a moment, and suddenly grabs his arm as she starts dragging him away from the graves, in god forbid what direction away from the village.

"You're just going to up and leave like this? With no answers, no confidence, and nothing to return to? My goddamn  _ stars _ Etienne, why are you giving up so easily?!" She can hear him protesting behind her as she drags him along, hardly aware of his complaints. "You're hardly well. You're skinnier than I am. You have no sleep, no strength, no sense of direction. And that's not meant to hurt. It's the goddamn truth."

She lets go of him and turns on her heel to face him, aware of how ablaze her whole demeanor must look...and lacking the will to care.

"Have you ever considered what you'll do once you have your precious answers? Do you really think they'll mean anything, when you've thrown away what's right before you?!"

“W-what if there’s nothing before me, Etsuko?!” He shouts back, heatedly. “I m-mean did you e-ever think about… a-about… the fact that I’m f-fucking useless, that there’s a-absolutely nothing that I’m good for? T-that I can’t make any new memories in a place that’s… t-taunting me? F-fuck’s sake,” he gasps out, wrapping his arms around himself, the thin black coat he was wearing doing nothing to shut out the drastically dropping temperature.

He breathes out, before sending her a sharp glare, resting his hand on her shoulder as he presses closer. “There’s nothing to give up on.” And that’s it, a sharp, short statement without a hint of trepidation, his stutter completely faded. Because it was true- he didn’t have a purpose, or a place, or even an idea of what mattered. He didn’t know who he was or who everyone around him thought he was or even who… who she was, because she was so goddamned secretive all the time.

_It’s not like it even matters,_ he thought, a lump building in his throat. _Give it a couple years and you’re dead anyway. Nobody else will care. Maybe Etsuko… but only Etsuko._

There was nobody else.

“I w-wanted to tell… y-you. B-because you’re the only… t-the only one who cares.” He said, a bit exasperated, but without much strength to his words. It was a mistake, he realizes, coming out here to talk to her, try and… and let her know that she actually means something.

Because she’s the only person who would give a damn. And if he just disappears off the face of the planet, nobody would be any wiser. It was… easier like that. Maybe if someone were to kill him while he was alone… at least he wouldn’t have to worry about anything. If he hit his head again and just… just lost it all over again, there wouldn’t be anyone to care. He could… he could just let go of everything.

But he didn’t want to lose her.

There was also no other option… and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, not at this point.

"Fucking  _ bullshit _ , there's nothing to give up on,"  she says as she grabs him back by the collar, strong enough that she thinks she could pick him up with one hand. But no, she needs him grounded, and out of his stupid fucking head. What a dumbass. What a stupid-

"I would've died if you hadn't saved me," she pressed through grit teeth. "If not from the smoke, everybody would've called me the Arsonist and hung me like one. But you saved my life, dammit. Does that mean nothing to you? Or do you think that was useless too?

"The stars know I give a  _ damn _ for you. Heavens knows the Doctor gives a shit for having housed you, and don't act like that's nothing, because she is harsh as shit on everybody but you. I mean, for fucks sake, even the-"

She catches herself, cuts herself off before she can say anymore. But she still grabs his shoulders and forces all the conviction she has in her own voice, despite that she's...shaking?

"If you can't find your identity in the past, then for _fuck's sake,_ _make one for yourself_! And if you can't do that . . . Then be happy you have a p-past you could even remember. God dammit, I hate how you make it seem so important when some of us don't have one at all."

He can’t help it when she grabs his shoulders suddenly, an intense grasp with enough force that he’s almost astonished… he can’t do much more than choke on his own breath, as he lets fucking tears fall from his eyes and trail down his lightly tanned cheeks as he presses closer to her and just wraps his arms around her. His entire body is so impossibly tired… tired of thinking, of moving, of caring…

“I d-don’t want any of… t-this… Etsuko, p-please… I just… I h-hate myself so much.” He sobs, pressing his face into her hair before he’s falling, his legs giving out from underneath him as he sinks to the ground, hands braced around her legs. “I r-remember… t-things… little things… t-they hurt too much… I j-just want to move on.” He looks up to her, hoping that she understands, that she can tell how fucking sorry he is because even he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

It’s a jumble of nerves, a mishmash of thoughts, a bunch of useless goddamned emptiness and miniscule fragments that don’t even click together. And the only thing he can actually remember is the feeling of the fucking bat smashing against his ribs and his skull and that foot that practically crushed his throat and he doesn’t know what to make of it, just that it might happen again… and if it happened again and he forgot… forgot her, then nothing was even worth it in the first place.

And it really wasn’t worth it for him to stay here either, not when he was surely going to die, surely going to see Etsuko die, not when he just wanted to, so he could give up and so she wouldn’t have to care and it would be a lot less painful… he just wanted to run. He didn’t want it anymore, any of it, didn’t ask for the incident, didn’t ask for the Doctor to take him in or for Etsuko to start caring…

He even wished that she wouldn’t because it would make it easier. Because he didn’t care, and he didn’t want anyone else wasting their thoughts on him.

It felt like her heart was being ripped into shreds. It felt like she was choking again, like she had before on the smoke, like she was seeing him for the first time again and losing her mind over it . . .

“Etienne,” she starts, but she can’t say anything more, not when she’s trying to lower herself to her knees, awkward enough when he had such a grip on her. Her head’s beginning to spin, and she tries to balance her hands on his shoulders as she tries to think of anything to say, anything to keep him from leaving because  _ god dammit I didn’t start giving a damn only for you to leave- _

She lurches, suddenly, as a shot of  _ fear _ jolts down her back, and she grips his shoulders with nails as she gasps, aching, that impulse she can’t control-

“L-Lighter-!” she reaches into her pocket for it, tries to pull it out, but it tumbles out of her hands and onto the ground, and she finds herself collapsing to her knees, too, as she shakes and buries her face into Etienne’s shoulder. “Etienne! M-My lighter-”

She can feel the fear swallowing her, cold as ice, settling into her back and her stomach and her chest, and suddenly she finds herself afraid, unnaturally so, so unlike her typical pyromania . . . she needs that flame, that flicker of light, but she doesn’t know where her lighter fell and she’s too scared to let him go in case he leaves-

“ETIENNE! I need my lighter, PLEASE! DON’T GO!”

His hands slip from Etsuko’s body, frantically searching around in the dirt for the lighter, the one he’d so often seen her holding, eyes flickering with just the most beautiful desire and he just wants to tell her that it’s all going to be okay, that she doesn’t need to worry because as long as he’s here, she’ll be fine-

But if he leaves her  _ now…  _ Would she be alright? Would she… would she do something even more reckless, more impulsive than on the night they’d met? What if she  _ died?  _ He’d never thought about it, about… about  _ her  _ death, at least not when he was still in the picture. It makes him even more frantic, as he uncurls Etsuko’s finger and presses the silver lighter back into them, closing her fist around it.

“Shh. Y-you’re okay, Etsuko, p-please… do-don’t be upset… I-I have your l-lighter, it’s all… g-going to be fine, okay?” He presses a kiss to her tightly closed eyelids- the left, the right, and the one on her forehead, as he takes a deep breath, pulling her back to his chest. He lets himself lie back against the dirt and grass and cold of the hillside, and he pulls her down with him, her head resting on his chest as she flicks the lighter open for a few brief seconds, holding it out in front of her like a lifeline.

He doesn’t have anything else to say, not when she’s so… so upset, when she clearly  _ needs  _ him, and he can’t fucking leave if someone  _ needs him.  _

She’d tried explaining it to her sisters before, when she’d fallen so badly, when she’d lost all sense of reason with this irrational fear - she’d told them that she needed the fire, for some reason, and that the urge for comfort and the urge to just light things up were different. They both seemed to come from the same place, but she doesn’t know why, doesn’t have an answer for why. When she had the urge to burn, she burned. When she was gulped by the ocean of fear, she burned.

In either case, snapping her lighter on felt like it pushed her into a epsom bath, warm and safe and weightless as she sucks in a breath and steadies her eyes on that tiny, flickering flame. It’s enough for it to be there, shining on Etienne’s chest and Etienne’s face, giving them a glow that made him look healthier, better,  _ fine _ . . .

She realizes, after a moment, that there’s warmth on her face, on her cheeks and along the center of her face, sliding over the bridge of her nose and over her lips. It’s a strange sensation, and in her anxiety she almost chokes up again - but she remembers seeing Etienne with his face red and with water down his face, and he can remember red faces shaking at loved ones dead, and those . . . tears.

She was  _ crying _ ?

She sucks in a breath and curls closer to Etienne, praying to the stars that he  _ won’t leave _ , because if he does then she might be plunged into the cold again.

He brushes the pads of his fingers across her cheeks, her nose and her eyelids, wiping away the tears that remained, trying to calm her as he stared at her, her eyes that were all too open and all too honest, so much that it  _ hurt  _ to look at her, to think that  _ he  _ was the person who was making her feel this way.

He offers a smile, a bit downtrodden and half-assed, but he thinks it’s enough to help her cope… at least for now. “I’m n-not going to leave y-you, Etsuko,” he tells her, their breaths heavy across each other’s face as he looks down at her with an expression of both anguish and genuine caring, pulling her closer still as she flicked her lighter off, and he can press her face to his side and feel her tears leaking through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He hopes she knows. He hopes she knows just how much he fucking  _ loves  _ her, how much he doesn’t want anything to happen to her, how much he just… just… there weren’t any  _ words  _ to describe what he felt about Etsuko. 

He needed her. He knew he needed her, and he didn’t know why he’d wanted to force her away, to shut even the tiny remnants of humanity out of his life. And for what purpose? He was going to die regardless… it was better… with her, wasn’t it?

“D-don’t be sad,” he murmurs to her. “I l-love you, okay? W-won’t let anything happen… not t-to you.” He presses another kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly, embracing with an emotion he didn’t know he had, unwilling to let go.

“God d-dammit, don’t idolise me,” she stammers. It’s embarrassing to have broken down in front of him, so suddenly and so  _ stupidly _ \- she hides her face against his chest, wishing that he wouldn’t see her face, wouldn’t see the stupid tears leaking from her eyes. He hated himself so much, to the point of leaving, and . . . how could he?  _ God _ , when he had done far less than she, had taken less innocent lives than she, when she was far more a demon than he could ever be? He’d saved her twice now. He was supposed to be the hero of the story. She was just . . . a temptress.

The idea, along with her sisters’ words, makes her want to  _ hit _ something. God, but how had she let him get caught up with her. She didn’t care that she cared about him, she didn’t care that she wanted to protect him, but she was always alight, and she didn’t  _ want _ to swallow him whole, and it was so stupid that he seemed willing to burn himself.

“You comfort me before y-yourself. Has it ever occurred to you that you deserve that comfort too? You have your innocence. You have faith and hope and- and fucking normal shit. Nobody can even look at me without being surprised.”

It made her angry that he cared, and even angrier that he couldn’t see how she cared, too. And it made her think of the woman in the square who kept glancing at him, obviously in possession of knowledge, and it made her so mad she nearly dug nails through his shirt.

As much as he wanted to protest it, to deny that he needed the same comfort he was giving her, that he didn’t deserve it because he was so fucking  _ useless,  _ he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.  He just shut his eyes and ran a hand through her long, red hair, his breathing unsteady, heartbeat slowed as opposed to earlier. 

“N-normal isn’t all it’s c-cracked up to be,” he whispers to her. “You’re b-beautiful, Etsuko.” He doesn’t know if she trusts him, if she  _ believes  _ him, no matter how many times he’s said it, but it’s true. To him, it’s more true than any of his facts were. And he knows- he knows that his love for this beautiful, unique, strong, blunt and honest woman was more than his love for anything else that existed. He couldn’t deny it- that he needed her…

And that she needed him too. He smiles, as he allows a few more brief words to escape his lips, “I only need you.” And that’s it. It’s true- he doesn’t need his memories, doesn’t need his worthless fucking past, doesn’t need to run anymore- he has Etsuko. And she’s the only one that matters, right? No matter how many people scorned him, called him useless, it was the ones who cared that truly mattered.

He knows that they should probably leave, head back into town, (not to mention that it’s getting even more cold outside, snowflakes blowing around in the air,) but he can’t bring himself to move. This moment… may just have saved his life, as small and utterly meaningless as it probably was in the major scheme of things. But that was okay- he was okay, she was okay,  _ everything is going to be fucking okay as long as they have each other. _

He thinks that, for the first night in the months since his accident, he can sleep well.

 

* * *

 

 

She knows she must look exhausted after saying goodbye to Etienne, holding him closely before letting him return to the Doctor’s house . . . there’s still that worry in her chest that he’s going to leave regardless, that he’ll forget everything and run off. She still isn’t sure why she cares so much, but all that she knows is that she  _ can’t _ let him go. Not when there’s still so much in Salem left for him.

She can’t help but feel a pang of guilt about it either, as she starts walking across town to her home. It’s not bright yet, daylight only just beginning to peek over the horizon, but she only had a few hours before everybody would be getting up. There was a layer of snow on the ground too, enough to make her feet  _ cold _ , and she finds herself sitting at the hanging pole - her “birthplace”, as it was - as she rubbed warmth into the soles of her feet.

She’d looked up just to see if she could find the house her mother was staying in, where the Witch was residing now. But a figure appears in the corner of her vision, and she snaps around to look at the figure in the face - a woman, one she recognized, knew and memorized all too well leaving the Medium’s house . . .

She frowns, and makes sure that the woman can see the narrowed, piercing gaze of her eyes.

“You’ve been watching him.”

“Of course I have,” the woman responds, leaning back against the side of the lynching stand, her eyes ignoring the veiled threat in the girl’s glare. “I have my reasons. Unlike you.” She gives a tiny smirk to the other, before changing the glance of her eyes, focusing in on the lighter clenched in Etsuko’s hand. “Just remember that I know what you are, my darling little Arsonist… and just how easily you can be broken. So if you tell him anything, you should expect to find yourself on this stand in the matter of a few hours.”

She breaks away from where she was leaning against the pole, reaching into the side of her jacket to pull loose a colored photograph- the image was rather vivid, and she knew the other wouldn’t have any trouble placing it in her mind. “I can imagine that you wouldn’t want this circulating, would you? Or…” she pulls out another photograph, setting it next to the first. “...this one. I have plenty of copies that could be circulated to anyone… the mayor, the jailor, the sheriff… but that’s not going to happen if you keep that pretty mouth of yours kept tightly shut. Your choice,  _ Etsuko.” _

Etsuko stays quiet as she looks at the images, ones that she can’t deny. They were all of burning rooftops, with her barely visible in some of the images through flames and smoke. But they’re all abandoned homes, she knows, nobody inside to be hurt. There’d been no accidents for weeks . . . at least, on  _ her _ part. She lets out a breath and looks up at the woman - no, the  _ Blackmailer _ \- and makes her glare even worse.

“You  _ bastard _ ,” she hisses as she gestures to the photos. “You can keep me quiet with those, sure, but you’re not aware of the rest of this, are you? Ask the Lookout. Ask the Invest. I don’t smell of gas anymore - and that’s because there’s  _ another _ arsonist.”

She can see the Blackmailer’s look, as if she’s lying, but she’s not - she hadn’t lit up anything, not a single house or shingle or tree, not for the last few weeks. Somebody else had been continuing her dirty work, except this time with victims . . .

After all, she wouldn’t keep doing it. She knows.

Not when she keeps having  _ nightmares _ of catching Etienne in her flames.

“Interesting,” the Blackmailer muses, pressing a finger to her red lips. “Very… interesting… although I’m certain there’s not only more to the matter of the Arsonist, but to yourself as well.” She pauses, glancing down at the redhead with an eyebrow raised. “Did you assume that I didn’t do a  _ thorough  _ check on you and your… sisters? I’m sure you know the importance of family, and I’m certain you wouldn’t appreciate it if I let the town know that Misha is a  _ serial killer.”  _ She sucks in, a deep breath, before turning on her heel as if to walk away.

“Keep that in mind, dear… and please, take heed of how close you’re getting with him. I’d prefer if I didn’t have to get him caught up in all of… this. Think of it as an arrangement, a negotiation of sorts. You keep your mouth shut, I keep mine shut as well. No strings attached- oh wait…  _ there are.” _ She’s about to take another step, leave the woman to ponder on her  _ misdeeds,  _ but the sound of Etsuko’s voice stops her in her tracks.

“You know he’ll find out,” she says . . . and then she’s surprised to find herself on her feet, a distance from the Blackmailer but  _ right before her _ . She sees the Blackmailer start, stop - but she can also feel the powers of the Witch rising around her, her visage darker, eyes narrowing until she knows the Blackmailer can  _ feel _ her heated, crazed aura.

“You have no idea of the pain he’s had to go through,” she says in a deadpan voice. “He wants to leave. And if he does, where does that put you? Nowhere but with a filthy bunch of killers to your name. And whether I die or not, you know he’ll know. He’ll remember, whether I tell it to him or not.”

She laughs, a quiet chuckle that makes her feel  _ powerful _ , lustful . . . she’s never resorted to this, never tried to make somebody so  _ afraid _ of her before. She steps and appears right before the Blackmailer, a foot above the ground, hovering before her as she brings the lighter to her lips . . . lets it click on and illuminate her face.

“Take care, young Jeannette,” she whispers as her voice echoes in her own ears. “Perhaps you need to consider who you’re more afraid of . . . me? Or . . . your  _ brother _ .”

**She twists away, gone before her very eyes - and when she makes it back to her house, she collapses against the doorframe and hides her gaze in her hands, with a small whisper of “Mother . . . Etienne . . .” as the power becomes too much, and makes her faint dead away. **


	3. Memories

It shouldn’t bother her, not like this. It never would’ve bothered her before, after all, because before, she didn’t really give a shit about  _ anybody _ . Sure, she had her sisters, and she was willing to kill for them . . . but Misha was immune to attacks and Natasha was the town’s well-known Escort. And after all, even if she  _ did _ know something, if it didn’t help her, who cared if she knew? And why would she ever tell-?

And then Etienne happened. And god  _ dammit _ , she can’t even look at him, even as they stand in the town square, learning of the Bodyguard’s death to yet another fuckin’ Mafioso.  _ They go through those things like napkins _ , she thinks as she lowers her eyes. For once, she can’t make herself look up as proudly as she did before.

She closes her eyes as she feels a headache coming on, right behind her third eye. It’d been all too common these days, after she’d exchanged threats with Jeannette . . . after using the abilities she’d locked away, for simple fear. It was rare that she questioned her mother’s judgement - after all, she lived thanks to her - but for once, she was worried.

If only she hadn’t drawn so much attention . . .

She’s shaking, and the cold doesn’t bother her too much, yet she still shakes and hugs herself tightly with shivering arms. It’s the pinch of anxiety that’s up her back, that’s making her uneasy . . . and though she worries there are eyes on her, she forces herself not to look up.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a few short days in passing, but it feels like much longer, Etienne thinks, as he takes in Etsuko’s figure from where she stand on the other side of town square, red hair whipping about in the wind. He’s not sure what’s happened, or what  _ is happening  _ between them, but he can’t bring himself to care. They haven’t talked for awhile- not since a few nights ago, when he’d had his breakdown, brief fragments coming together of fists and a crying woman, of his own head being hit and kicked until his skull cracked.

It was a flurry of thoughts, pieces of memories that he realized he didn’t want back. And maybe it was odd, a bit stupid, to think that he’d come all this way in hopes of recovering memories that he wasn’t sure he even wanted. Because with the aching in his head and the pounding of his heart in his chest, he knew that remembering was just as painful as forgetting.

He tucks himself away in the Doctor’s house that night, in his dimly lit room near the back of the clinic, crossing his arms over his face as he stares toward the ceiling. He's not sure of anything anymore- Elisa, Etsuko, the faces left in his mind like faded out photographs. He frowns as he ponders, and the frowns fade into a mess of tears and broken sobs, his entire body shaking from subjective fear.

He's not expecting the knock on the door when it comes so late, doesn't expect to open it to find Etsuko standing there, face pale as a ghost. He quickly helps her inside, letting her sit on the cracked wooden floor of his pseudo-bedroom with a sad smile as he tries to brush tears from his cheeks.

“You’ve been crying,” is all she says before leaning forward and helping to brush away the tears with her thumbs. It’s the sad little smile that kills her inside - seeing him try to stay strong, when he seems to be collapsing like a poorly-built house of cards. She knows the feeling all too well.

She’s not certain why she came here, why she thought it was a smart idea - all she knows is that she  _ has _ to tell him something. But she doesn’t know what, if she should risk her life or reveal her heritage or . . . or anything about the other part of the picture.  _ God _ , but whether it was the Arsonist or the Blackmailer or the Witch, each path felt so dangerous to tread, so . . . so frightening. She doesn’t like that they all put a cold stone in her stomach, one that’d kept her from eating for days.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I wish you could be stronger,” she says, “If only for yourself.” She isn’t sure if she’s talking to Etienne or herself, but she’s not sure it matters.

Etsuko can’t decide what she wants, if she wants to tell him or run or pretend everything is fine - so she takes the easiest route, or at least she hopes. She leans forward and presses her lips to his, trying to mimic the movements of a genuine kiss, one that isn’t thwarted by her thoughts . . . she reaches forward for his collar, trying to pull him closer. She only hopes that it’s enough to distract him.

It’s enough to cause the unfortunate string of thoughts to fade- if only for a few moments. Etsuko’s lips are soft, a pale pink without tears or splits, unlike his own. He can still taste the coppery blood on his tongue, the remainder of his tearing at his lower lip with sharp teeth. He knows she can feel him shaking as he moves closer to her, one hand wrapping around her back, hand tangling in long red hair before he pulls away quickly.

“W-why are you here?” He questions her, finally, knowing that she must have her reasons- he can see it in her eyes, a darkness, her own secretive nature finally betraying her. He can tell that she’s confused- he knows confusion all too well himself, and the quivering of her lips betrays her own desperation. He wants to pull her closer, wants to whisper comforts to her, sweet nothings in her ears until she smiles again, wants to just hold her and lie there on the floor until dawn…

He settles for moving closer to her, sitting next to her with his hand braced on her back, rubbing circles into the tense muscles, looking down at her with what he hopes is an encouraging glance. He’s not surprised when her lips purse, and she looks away; he’s briefly reminded of how tiny she is in comparison to him, how expressive. 

“You can… t-talk to me,” he says to her, hoping she’ll open up, get whatever it is off her chest. Because goddammit, he could break down under pressure and let the memories rip at his mind and feel all the physical pain in the world- glass piercing through skin and his skull being beaten in- but he can’t let her feel that agony. Etsuko doesn’t deserve it. And fuck, if he wasn’t going to make sure that she was okay, that she could remain peaceful at the very least…

It was terribly heroic, and terribly tragic.

“There’s . . . nothing wrong,” she says, looking back to him, but she can tell by his eyes - he doesn’t believe her. She sighs and puts her fingers to her temples. That headache is coming on again, right behind her eyes, an ache she wishes she could push off . . . but she can’t. She knows that. But she also knows that if she says too much, then there would be consequences.

She wants him to be well, to know, but god  _ dammit _ , she wanted to live . . .

“There’s a- a second arsonist,” she blurts out, the first secret falling off her lips. She wants to hope it makes her feel better, but it really doesn’t. It just makes her feel even more tense, so she tries to continue and hope that it helps. “I h-haven’t been burning anything for the last few weeks. I’ve been r-resisting. But somebody is burning down houses that people l-live in. And it’s not my fault. You believe me, right?”

She doesn’t look up to see if he believes her. She just keeps plowing through.

“I’m also not as normal as you think I am,” she continues in a rush. “I’m the daughter of a witch. You know that. The whole goddamn town knows that. But there are other secrets I hold. Secrets I cannot reveal. And . . .”

She closes her eyes, and bites her lip. She turns her face away so he cannot see how painful it is for her to speak.

“. . . there’s something I know, that I should tell you. But if I do, I’ll be killed. It’s . . . it’s about your past.”

_ His past? _ It’s the first thing that hits his mind, a wave of tension that’s threatening to bubble over as he grips her arm so intensely his nails dig into her skin. He wants to yell at her, to demand that she tells him, to… to force it out of her if he needs to, but  _ fuck’s sake, it’s Etsuko _ and she’s worth a hell of a lot more than his memories. He can see the pained expression on her face, and he quickly lets go of her, moving backwards, away from her, stumbling in his movement and franticness.

“I-I…” he starts, stammering, before he closes his eyes. “T-the arsonist. We can… f-find him first. If y-you think you can. A-and… I don’t c-care if you’re not normal. I-it’s better that… that you’re n-not.” He takes a deep breath, unsure of how to continue. He knows he can’t even attempt to comfort her, that anything he says will only worsen the situation and Etsuko’s predicament, so Etienne keeps his mouth shut, pulled into a straight line, as he presses his back to the wall and looks over at her again.

“I’m s-sorry,” he spits. “T-there’s nothing… n-nothing to say. I… just want you to be a-alright.” He nods, deciding that it sounds best that way. He doesn’t mention it, what he’s really so desperately curious about that his entire body  _ burns  _ just at the thought of it. But he doesn’t know how to tell her either, about his memories, about the flashbacks he’s been experiencing, about the sudden apprehension he was gaining and… and the fucking _ fear, _ those goddamn  _ voices  _ that were starting to force their way into his head.

He couldn’t explain it to her. He didn’t want to force her away again- he needed her to stay with him, needed her to be calm and alright. And fuck if he was ever going to let someone take her away from him… his… his  _ memories  _ weren’t worth someone’s life, especially not the woman he loved. 

He didn’t need them.

“W-what do you w-want to do? I… I m-mean, how s-should I help you?”

His shaking voice makes her want to turn around and leave. It hurts too much to hear, grabs at her throat so badly she feels like she could choke. He seems so unhappy all the time, so depressed . . . and god, if she doesn’t want to help him, pull him closer, tell him  _ everything _ . But at the same time, she doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want her sisters to die, either.

But his memories- after so long, and he’s suffering for so long-

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” she says, softly. It was a mistake. She shouldn’t have told him anything, not a word of it. She shouldn’t have been so attentive at the circle, shouldn’t have confronted Jeannette like she did.

And she realizes she’s crying . . . and she curls in on herself as she hides her face from view and sobs.

“I-I’m so sorry, Etienne,” she chokes out, the headache getting worse, making some of aura she’d used before - to threaten the Blackmailer - rise up, infernal and crazed and  _ wrong _ , and everything she’d carried that night a thousand times worse as she tries to stop  _ sobbing _ in front of him.

She hardly realizes she’s losing control.

His hands are suddenly pressing to her face, thumbs wiping tears from her pale cheeks as he looks at her, only his eyes betraying what he’s currently feeling. He’s entirely torn- on one hand, he wants his fucking memories back, on the other hand he cares about Etsuko  _ too fucking much  _ to even pry on the matter… 

He gives her a steady glance, meeting her eyes as he presses a hand against her chin so that she’s looking at him once more. “You have  _ nothing  _ to be sorry about.” He says simply, sharply, before pressing a gentle, somewhat chaste kiss to her lips. “T-there’s nothing… t-that you can do… I-I don’t… I don’t need m-my memories. Y-you keep them.” He can’t tell if that even made sense, if it even mattered in the scheme of things, but at least he can find assurance in the fact he’d gotten it out.

He just… he just wanted to keep her safe at this point. Nothing else would matter, not if he didn’t remember. And he didn’t  _ need  _ to remember… god knows it would only make his life more frustrating, messier… he pulls her close, pressing her head to his chest as he rocks on his knees, slowly. Her tears, still falling, are leaking onto his thin white shirt, and he smoothes her hair back, pulling her to lie with him on the floor.

“Y-you don’t… n-need to hide things anymore, E-Etsuko. I’m not… I fucking  _ l-love you.” _ He whispers, trying to… to just help her calm down, help her get over whatever she was feeling, the anguish and… and the pain. She didn’t deserve it.

And with a sharp, striking thought in his head, he thinks that  _ maybe he doesn’t fucking deserve it either. _

“Shut  _ up _ ,” she stammers as she punches his chest, lightly, frustrated as all fuck that she keeps  _ fucking crying _ , both from the secret she has to keep and the mounting pain in her head. She curls around him like the children she’d seen around their parents, though she knew she’d never know that sort of feeling, not when she’d never been a child, the one goddamn thing the Witch didn’t allow her-

Her head pulses in pain when she can feel the aura break away from her, making the air around them begin to gust as papers start flying around the room, slapping against them- but she can’t stop it, not even when she looks up and tries to get control back, tries to calm the  _ fuck down _ . She knows Etienne must be shocked, with this sudden  _ magic _ around them, but she can’t- can’t look at him, can’t escape her head, not with the magic around them and her goddamn  _ head _ -

“DON’T LOOK!” she begs as she buries her face in his chest, trying to steady her breaths, caught in the whirlwind around them. She’s not crying anymore, trying to reign everything in, but she’s so unbalanced that she can’t pull everything in thanks to her goddamn aching  _ head _ .

He doesn’t know what to do- everything’s a fucking mess, and he can’t do anything about it, and then there’s that godawful pulsing in his own head, in his fucking  _ mind  _  and he just holds her tightly as she shakes, trying to calm her down… When her breathing finally comes back to normal, when it settles, when she stops trembling, he’s content to just pull her closer, breathe in and out and listen to the rhythm of his own heartbeat that’s resounding like a drum in his skull.

And then it  _ hits,  _ that fucking strike of white lightning behind his eyes and he’s forcing her away, pushing her, telling her that she has to  _ leave  _ and she has to leave  _ now  _ because he doesn’t want her to see him like this and he doesn’t want her to know any of what  _ he’s  _ been hiding because hell if it’s not going to ruin everything they’ve worked so hard for…

He can see the betrayed expression on her face, but he can’t get her away fast enough and he’s fucking falling and his head’s knocking against the floor again and he just  _ can’t fucking breathe  _ because it’s something that he doesn’t want. He  _ doesn’t fucking want it,  _ but he can see flashes of faces, his… his father and… his sister… Jeannette, and then there’s that fucking  _ asshole  _ and he feels an anger that’s so intense and immediate as he remembers not a bat, but  _ gunshots  _ and being kicked in the ribs and the fucking  _ cracked skull  _ and his sister’s screaming… and he can remember how the town  _ looked at him  _ and how they looked at  _ her  _ and the veiled memories of curses and insults in his ears as he screamed about his innocence…

_ Nobody fucking believed him.  _ He was beat up, and then it went to fucking… to fucking  _ hell,  _ he thinks, and the last thing he hears is Etsuko’s fucking  _ yelling  _ before he lets his head fall back into that same goddamn ache and then it’s black.

She’s can’t remember, later, exactly how everything ended. She can remember screaming Etienne’s name, holding onto him and telling him to calm down - she can remember the Doctor running in with the room in disarray thanks to the atmosphere  _ she’d _ created - and she can remember being pulled away from Etienne, and a sharp pain in her neck that made her sink into the black.

When she comes to, she’s on the couch of the Doctor’s home again, with Elisa right there . . . and she reaches up and grabs her wrist with too much strength for her shaking body to take.

“Where is he?” she asks, surprisingly calm, trying to keep her head level once more, as people always saw. Elisa doesn’t say anything - just pulls her up and leads her to the spare bedroom . . .  _ Etienne’s _ bedroom.

. . . he looks sicker than she’s ever seen.

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Elisa says, but Etsuko doesn’t bother asking why. She just pulls up a chair, and even when Elisa leaves, she sits there. Watches. Waits.

She’s almost too scared to ask what she’d done.

 

* * *

 

 

He hasn’t done  _ anything.  _ And maybe that was the problem, maybe that was the entire reason why his life had just washed away, gone to complete and utter fabricated  _ bullshit.  _ All he knows is that it’s been too long, he’s been too idle, he’s been  _ too fucking useless  _ and he needs to see her- he needs  _ her.  _ His sister, the only good thing he’d had before he’d been forced into this fucking  _ shadow,  _ practically  _ braindead,  _ and he just can’t think. Not without her. Not without his memories. Not without his  _ pictures,  _ the hideous drawing that were pinned all over the walls in his room, of his face  _ that one face, his fucking face that he just wanted to burn off, wanted to rip his eyes out and take his tongue right out of his mouth so he couldn’t spin anymore fucking lies…  _

And he’s almost sick as he comes to, his mouth dry, sitting forward and  _ heaving  _ and there’s bile spilling from the corners of his mouth and onto the thin blankets as he shakes, arms wrapping around his frame which has grown  _ entirely too bony,  _ he realizes, and he feels so  _ weak,  _ so frail he can’t even come close to fathoming why he’s ended up this way and…

And she’s sitting there, that concerned look on her face and for a second, he almost feels bad. There’s a twinge of pain that resounds through his chest as he meets Etsuko’s eyes, and he waits for her to speak, to just fucking say something, but… but no words pass her lips and he can’t bring himself to let any out either. There aren’t… there aren’t any  _ words  _ to describe what he’s feeling, what’s happened to him, and there isn’t any  _ way  _ that he could comfort her now… because he’s not a hero and he doesn’t know why he was playing that role to begin with. But he knows, he just  _ knows that history’s going to repeat itself _ because the only thing he can remember are his sister’s words…

_ “You were  _ my  _ hero once,”  _ she’d said and he was too fucking weak… and Etsuko was gonna die, she was gonna die and he couldn’t do anything about it because the world was a  _ sick, fucked up place  _ that wasn’t kind to people like them or like him…

But it didn’t  _ have  _ to be that way. No, no, and it wouldn’t… it wouldn’t be that way if  _ he just fucking died. _

He looks up at Etsuko with his eyes only, and he’s sure that she feels betrayed because he knows she can see the anger, the pain, the angst, the utter  _ hatred  _ that he must be conveying and he wants to tell her that it’s not because of her, that it’s not her fault, but he can’t think, and then he’s lurching forward and throwing up again, all over the floor, and he can’t even look at her, not now, not like this...

She grabs his shoulders as he lurches, vomits, and she tries to hold back his hair as he empties bile onto the floor. “Etienne!” she tries, but he’s so out of it he can’t look at her, even when he stops, even when she’s helping him upright and pulling the hem of her skirt up to wipe the vomit from his lips. Etsuko isn’t sure she can look him in the eyes, but she  _ has _ to, even if the hatred in them is beginning to worry her, even for as vulnerable as she feels here.

But his eyes are clear, lucid . . . and she heaves a sigh of relief, at least from knowing that her outburst hadn’t hurt him. Yet there was something new in his gaze, something dark and so rabid that she nearly recognized it. It was like looking into Misha’s eyes before she went for a kill, or her own eyes dilated in the mirror when she couldn’t hold back the urge to burn . . .

Just at the thought, she can feel that urge building up again, starting at the bottom of her spine and racing up and-  _ no _ . She needs to be here, she needs to make sure he’s okay, even if he’s out of it and looking so frightening-

“Etienne . . .?” she tries, keeping her voice low, trying to hide the emotions that feeling like spilling over. But god dammit, if he didn’t drag everything she felt out, when she tried to keep it to herself, when she’d been so goddamn apathetic before - but she can’t help it. Not even her sisters made her feel so open, so weak. And she knows that’s what she looks like, even when Etienne looks away from her, as if he’s trying to gather his wits again . . .

She grits her teeth and looks into her lap. She closes her eyes . . . pulls in a breath.

“I was worried that would happen. If you saw my . . . what the Witch gave me,” she whispers. And then, even softer, “I’m so sorry.”

He’s trying to gather his thoughts even as she speaks, as he hears her sharp intake of breath and her murmured words that were so light it seemed as if they’d simply fade away. “Etsuko,” he whispers, before looking around, his eyes focusing on the scattered papers, piles of clothes, dim lights… “W-what am I… doing here? Why are you… here?” 

He’s already so confused and it’s like that night all over again, after the incident, when he woke up and all he saw was… was darkness and he could hear were unfamiliar voices and it  _ just wasn’t right  _ and… why did she apologize? Was she… upset? He tries to get his mind to wrap around that, the fact that he needs to comfort her but there’s an empty space in his chest where his empathy had been before, and he has to  _ force  _ compassion into his voice as he says, “You didn’t do anything.”

And then he’s gripping her hands in his own, so tightly that he fears he could’ve broken them, but something in him just doesn’t care anymore- she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, she plays with  _ fire  _ for godssake, and it’s not a big deal if he just… if he just lets her take care of herself, is it? For now at least… he just… he needed to gather himself, to… to even out his thoughts again.

_ If that’s even possible, _ he thinks briefly, because as soon as that name passes through his brain his lip curls briefly and then he’s looking up at her again and he says, “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.” And he realizes that there wasn’t even a stutter, that his memories have  _ returned  _ and at absolutely the  _ worst time.  _ And he can’t run away from it, not now, because there’s stuff he has to do, business to take care of and…

_ He needs to see Jeannette. _

“My sister,” he gasps out. “I need… I-I need to see her… E-Etsuko, please…” And he’s coughing, loudly enough that it’s the only thing he can hear, grabbing hold of her shirt as he feels his strength diminishing even further… he looks up to her, and briefly says, “T-thank you.” And he hopes that it will suffice, at least for now because… because she was the root behind all of this, she helped him when nobody else would, she listened and…

_ Everyone else had betrayed him. _

“What?” she asks. The words don’t register for a moment -  _ what did he say? _ \- and then it hits her, and she realizes.

“You . . . remembered . . .”

She isn’t sure what to say, or what to feel, or if she should get up and leave or . . . or what. But his eyes look strong again, though his body is so weak, and it scares her, it really does. She doesn’t know what he remembered, what job he has to do, and she worries if he’d have to turn her over to the town now -  _ what if he’s one of the justice townies? _ \- but she can’t make herself run, and she can’t leave him alone. She swallows on what feels like sawdust.

“You should see Elisa,” she says. Then: “Wait, maybe now isn’t the best time. I don’t know where Jeannette- well, it’s nighttime, she’d be out . . . I can . . . carry you?” she asks. The urge for  _ fire _ bubbles up again, but she forces it down with a harsh, “I’ll help you find her,” as she helps him to his feet, despite the bile on his clothes and down his chin.

“You should - clothes,” she says, and she lets him go for a moment to root through the clothes in his drawer. They’re all the same - grey shirts and dark slacks - but she tosses them to him and helps him change. And then she looks down at her own dress, covered in dust and vomit . . .

“Well . . . I’m borrowing your clothes,” she states as she starts undoing the buttons at her back and begins stripping off her dirty clothes, one piece at a time.

He waits, silently, unable to do much more than watch as Etsuko peels off her dress and begins redressing herself in clean clothes- his clothes- and he almost laughs at how they look on her, too tight around her hips- she seems so tense now, so much more than before, and maybe he should’ve noticed earlier, but why should he be expected to? Why now, when there’s so much that needs to be sorted out? He doesn’t… doesn’t have _ time  _ for this, and it’s only a few brief seconds before he’s tugging on her wrist and pulling her down the hall and out the door behind him.

The streets are cold and he almost shivers at that- it’s a very monotonous night, for lack of a better word, lights on in houses, streets all but cleared… he realizes that he doesn’t have any clue where he should begin and his legs are suddenly too weak and they’re giving out beneath him as he holds onto Etsuko’s wrist for dear fucking life… 

He gives her a glance, not wanting to ask her… there’s no way she could carry him, not with his height, and he’s too weak to go far on his own but  _ he needs to fucking see Jeannette  _ because she knows, she  _ knows  _ and she could tell him… tell him more… and his hands are just  _ itching  _ with the urge to draw again, that face in shades of black and grey and then splatter it with red paint and tear it into pieces…

He’s  _ desperate,  _ he realizes, entirely too desperate, and he’s clinging to Etsuko, trying to anchor himself, trying not to… be forced down, to be held back, he just wanted  _ to know  _ and he just wanted  _ to squeeze all the life out from his neck and watch the inevitable snap of bone and bruising of skin and blood, so much  _ **_blood._ **

  
And then he’s looking up at her, and he’s stammering, “N-need you. H-help. Please.” He doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to  _ need help,  _ but it’s the only way… and Etsuko’s the only thing he has right now, and if anyone else knew, they hadn’t told him, they’d fucking  _ ruined him.  _ He almost wants to scream, but he won’t, and Etsuko’s helping him to his feet, and he knows that she doesn’t have to do this, but she still  _ is,  _ and _ … he needs her. _

It hurts to see him so weak, but so determined - it was like he wanted to run himself dry. But she nods anyways, and looks around, trying to decide where to go, what to say . . .

“There’s . . . a rumor than Jeannette has been seeing the medium . . . that’s as good a place to start as any,” she says as she pulls Etienne’s arm over her shoulders, and starts walking, fast enough to satisfy him and slow enough for him to even keep up.

 

* * *

 

 

The Medium’s house isn’t far, close to the lynching stand . . . but the Doctor’s house is farther, and it feels like time crawls as Etsuko tries to half-carry Etienne to the stand. She’s not even sure what to call him in her mind anymore. Did he remember his real name now? What was she supposed to call him until then? He was always Etienne to her, not even the Amnesiac or some other shit . . . just Etienne. That name  _ mattered _ , dammit. How much of him was going to change now that he had his memories back?

She doesn’t have an answer . . . at least not now, of all times.

They finally make it to the lynching stand, and she helps him sit on the steps as she looks around, almost frantically. She’s still fighting that urge to ignite, to find a house and fucking  _ douse _ it, but she knows she can’t. She looks around, back to the Medium’s house. The lights seem out . . . but she just narrows her eyes. She has a feeling that Jeannette is there . . . and if she wasn’t . . .

“Stay here,” she says, but her voice is dark, and she can tell she’s half-lost to her urges, as she grips the lighter she’d replaced in her pocket and starts walking towards the Medium’s house.

If Jeannette tried to hurt him . . .  _ she _ would be the one to burn . . .

The pounding on the door is so  _ frantic  _ that her heart leaps a pace, looking over to the Medium who was nestled amongst blankets on the couch. And Jeannette knows she’s not supposed to be here,  _ knows  _ that if anyone catches her…

Fuck’s sake, she doesn’t care. She debates opening the door, but the pounding grows even more rushed and the Medium is stirring and… she doesn’t want her to wake up.  _ Fuck. _

So what a surprise it is when she looks through the window and sees blood red hair, the woman practically bristling when she finally swings the door open. 

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Jeannette answered in a joking voice, before adding, “Don’t you remember our little-” and then she’s being pulled forward, out into the snow, looking up at Etsuko’s livid expression… oh, she is  _ pissed,  _ and the Blackmailer’s smart enough to know that she shouldn’t push it, not now of all times. She waits for the other to speak, to say something-  _ anything-  _ but Etsuko simply hauls her to her feet, an appreciative groan and a murmur of “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” before she’s halfway walking, halfway being dragged out into the square.

“Shut the fuck up,” she growls. She doesn’t care if Jeannette is trying to keep up - she just moves, pulling her along, intent on getting her to Etienne because  _ fuck if she doesn’t want something to burn _ . It’s frustrating as hell, with Etienne remembering and Jeannette having made her so fucking scared before, and now the impossibility of lighting something up because god  _ dammit _ if they think she’s an arsonist then she’s dead.

When she makes it back to the lynching stand, she can see Etienne looking up at her, shocked considering his wide eyes - but honestly, her mind’s too fuzzy to care. She practically tosses Jeannette at his feet, sinks her own foot into the small of her back so she’s pinned. Whether either of them are complaining about it, she can’t hear it through the static.

“He knows. Remembers. I don’t know what it was like for you two before his accident, but I’m telling you right now, you’re going to sit here and talk to him and if you try to run, I swear to god, I will chase you all over Salem. I am  _ not _ dealing with any more bullshit tonight.”

She pulls her foot up and walks away, just far enough to keep an ear out for them - but enough that she can pull out her lighter and flick it on, helping to ease the tension, let her mind rest.

“How much does she know?” Was the first thing to leave Jeannette’s mouth as she meets eyes with Etienne, pulling herself back to her feet, looking down at him, gaze unwavering.

“D-doesn’t matter,” he snaps back. “W-where is he?”

Jeannette can’t resist the urge to press hands to her forehead, palms covering her eyes as she tries to blink back her own memories. “This isn’t the time,” she says simply, rubbing her eyelids before leaning back against the stand, slowly letting herself slide down it until they’re sitting next to each other again- it’s almost nostalgic, being back here like this. She remembered when she’d pull him out for walks at night, the only time it was… acceptable for them to meet each other.

Things had been very different back then.

Etienne can’t help the scowl from slipping onto his face at her words, however, and it’s only a few seconds before his hand is fisting in her blouse, and she’s glancing up with apprehension. “ _ Where is he?” _

“Same fucking place,” she snaps back. “When are you going to let go of this fucking  _ grudge?”  _

“When he’s  _ dead,”  _ he retorts, with a slight growl, before looking at her. “Sis, please.  _ P-please. _ I’m  _ begging  _ you.”

“I thought you’d gotten past this,” she says, shaking her head. “What happened to our childhood, Etienne? What happened to… to those memories, the flowers and the dried parchment and your sketchbooks and smiles? Why did you…”

“Because of  _ you,”  _ he replies. “It was all for you. And now it’s for  _ me.  _ Can’t you accept that? Don’t you understand that it’s not going to change just because I… because I fucking  _ lost it  _ once?”

“One time is all it takes for most people,” she adds. “You keep filling your head with… with these fictitious promises to yourself…  _ it doesn’t work.  _ I’ve  _ tried.” _

“It will work,” he replies. “You know it will- you’re the one who’s going to  _ make it.” _

“I’m not going to… to help you with that…”

_ “He fucking lied to them. About me. Shot me. Ended my life. Ended your life.  _ Your fucking marriage is  _ gone,  _ Jean. And I can’t help you with that- but I can help the fact that he  _ betrayed  _ me.  _ Me.  _ So it’s not for you anymore,”

He stands, brushing himself off as he tries to move, and somehow gathers enough strength in his feet to walk away without a glance back to his sister, without even hearing the last few words she spoke. He grabs Etsuko’s arm, not at all surprised to find her holding her lighter, and presses his mouth to her ear.

“Thank you,” he says, but there’s an inflection in his voice that she hasn’t heard before, and he doesn’t know how she’ll react. He just hopes that she’ll understand.

She’d lost time pretty easily, but when Etienne grabs her and pulls her close, it scares the  _ hell _ out of her. She can feel herself tense up, hand shaking on her lighter. And his words don’t help, harsh and cold, sending both a nervous shiver and an erotic heat down her back.

“I’m going to hope that I’ve helped,” she says, slowly, still trying to gauge everything beyond her own urges and the cold outside. It’s goddamn freezing - the two of them look like twins, dressed the same, both beginning to shiver from everything before. Or, then again, maybe he’s shaking from anger . . . and she’s not entirely sure who it’s directed at, Jeannette or her, but it’s worrisome enough.

“We should . . . g-get out of this cold,” she says. But she’s still uncertain of what’s happened, only that she wants fire and satisfaction and  _ him _ , more than anything else. She wraps arms around herself and looks around. It’s still dark, and beginning to snow again in fat, fluffy flakes. Her house was too far - same with the Doctor’s. The two of them, with the way they were dressed, could easily freeze before they get back. (It doesn’t help that she’s just in overlarge socks, too.)

“I . . . where do we go?” she asks as she shivers again. “The Invest is nearby, maybe the jailhouse will be empty . . . but . . .”

“Come with me,” a voice says from behind them, and Etienne’s hand clenches around Etsuko’s, pulling her closer to him instinctively. “Please. It’s too cold to be out here alone. I’ll help you walk,” Jeannette slips her hand under Etienne’s own, slinging around his back before pulling off her own scarf and wrapping it around Etsuko’s shoulders. “It’ll be fine.”

“W-we can trust her,” he says, looking at Etsuko. “It’s going to… be okay.” He allows his sister to work on tugging him through the snow, the white practically blinding before a key twists in a lock and Etsuko’s collapsing onto the floor inside, shortly followed by him. It’s cold, and he’s worn down, entirely too out of it for his own good, and a part of him wishes that his memories hadn’t come back, that things could’ve carried on like before, but…

No. No, this was a blessing. He could… he could finally finish what he’d started. 

There were still bridges to burn, and he knew that Etsuko was going to be there with him when he finally let his own fire consume him. And he’d always be there for her… to let her flames consume whatever she needed.


	4. Endangered

He’s exhausted- and he’s not sure if it’s because of everything that’s been going on, if it’s because he hasn’t been sleeping, if it’s because every day is filled with breathlessness and hesitation and his own frenzied shouting and sometimes he just wants to forget it… all of it.

He never thought he’d be saying that. He never thought that after he’d gotten his memories back… he’d realized maybe he didn’t want them after all. But there was no room for want, no, not anymore. He hadn’t room to  _ want _ anything, not now- there was simply what he  _ needed,  _ and what he needed was Xavier’s fucking head in that noose.

And yeah, maybe it was a bit overwhelming, and maybe he’d finally started to realize just how futile everything seemed while the mafia was still outnumbered. And there was always that paranoia- the fear that someone else would do it first- that he couldn’t shake. And just the thought was enough to cause him to tear at his lip with teeth, fist hands in his hair and scream.

He stayed up late these days, odd hours of the night with the pens clutched between his fingers as he spread ink over white parchment and marked the papers up until he could see that awful fucking face- still with that handsome, devilish smirk, practically oozing confidence. The town had never seen just how much of an _ asshole _ he was. But Etienne had. And he’d never seen him better than when his face was covered in bright red.

There were times he’d even cut his finger to draw the perfect red line across his throat. It was oddly fitting, for the Vigilante to have Etienne’s blood spread across his neck. A twisted sense of justification, perhaps, but the Executioner had always considered himself judicious and that hadn’t changed. The only thing that had changed was his ability- his  _ duty-  _ to show everyone what a monster the man was before he caused any more damage.

Particularly to his sister.

And maybe that was eating a hole in his head, but that wasn’t what mattered, not now. As much as he would’ve liked to wring the life from the bastard with his own hands, knuckles bruised and black and hands overlapping until the other’s face turned livid shades of blue and purple… he couldn’t.

But how he  _ wanted _ to.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s not sure if she should be doing this.

But there she is, Etsuko wrapped in a woolen shawl that did so little to protect her from the winter snow swirling around her, making her shiver and hunch her shoulders. She’d always been so good with heat, with that  _ beautiful, scorching, fucking erotic heat . . . _ but the winter, she found, was always the worst, and somehow, her body cooled under its influence much faster than anybody else’s. It was horrible. It’d been often enough that she’d collapsed in the snow, only to wake to warm blankets around her and a fireplace nearby with words of  _ hypothermia _ and  _ the winter’s too bad _ and  _ what could be wrong with her? _

But she knows. She knows well enough what’s fucking wrong with her. But that’s not something she can repeat.

. . . she doesn’t know if she wants to find her mother, or Etienne, first.

She knows that Etienne has changed, and they haven’t talked since that night when he’d remembered it all, and when she’d . . . lost control. Just the idea makes her shake even harder - that she had hurt him, made him remember as her powers lost control? What if she had hurt him? It’s so stupid, that she worries about hurting somebody so much, when it never seemed to matter before, but that’s the price she gets for . . . caring . . .

She shakes her head and looks around again, pulling her shawl closer, hoping she can come to a decision  _ before _ she freezes up in the snow. But just as she decides, she hears a crunching in the snow behind her, and she turns with all three eyes flying wide-

It’s not Etienne, and it’s not her mother . . . and the man’s figure is recognizable enough for her breath to freeze in her throat, as she stumbles back and hopes that he chose to left his gun at home.

His gun is pointed at her head, between blood red locks and over that odd fucking eye- and maybe he shouldn’t be shooting, not when he’s like this, but he knew more than enough what gasoline smelled like and this woman  _ reeked.  _ Etsuko, the Witch’s daughter, her  _ beloved-  _ and he wonders why nobody mentioned it sooner.

He wonders about a lot of things, really, and maybe it’s always killed him to question his past decisions, and his present ones- like why he hadn’t shot  _ Jeannette fuckin’ Lafontaine-  _ but a few years of marriage is enough to drive even the sanest of men mad. And he hadn’t been particularly sane to begin with, if they were being fair.

No, it was the bottle, and what it had done to him, and what it had done to his father, when his father had gone out to shoot people with a gun so similar to his own…

But his father had chosen the wrong side. The Mafia… was useless, foolish, horrendous… just as sick and fucked up as most of this world was, and so he says, simply, “Any last words?” As he looks at the unusual young woman, his trigger finger shaking but not hesitant. No, there’s not much that’s hesitant about him, not anymore-

But there is something he’s curious about, Xavier thinks, and that is… “What is the _Executioner_  to you?” He asks her, not pulling back, but not pulling the trigger either. She seems a bit too shaken to reply, but he can’t help shouting, “Answer me!”

She cries out when he shouts, and stumbles back as her shaking worsens. This was him, then- he’d heard Etienne talking about him, back when he’d remembered everything, one of the last Vigilantes left, and he was right in front of her, about to put a bullet into that third eye of hers and  _ god dammit she didn’t want to die _ -

“St-stop-!” is all she can beg as she keeps stumbling back, her head spinning purely with the fear of it all, and the gun pointed at her forehead and the idea of death and  _ oh god I don’t want it to end this way, not like this, no no no- _

She’s suddenly folded into molten arms . . . falling back into a hot pillar behind her, like somebody built of flames . . .

“Sweetheart,” she hears, a voice she recognizes, so warm - she opens her mouth to speak, but her eyes are covered by tanned hands, and she silences as her body continues to shake. Her world still feels like it’s shaking, like- like she was going to fall. But a strange sense of calm settles over her, sudden, sweet . . . her voice barely manages to break free.

“M . . . Mother?”

The Witch smiles down at her daughter, half-collapsed in the snow, arms wrapped around herself so closely . . . it wouldn’t be long before she’d need to be inside. But for now it’s not time for it - not when somebody is threatening her daughter, her  _ favorite _ , the only one who’d inherited  _ any _ of her strength . . .

She slowly lifts her eyes to the Vigilante, and she lets the town around them go even darker as she settles the aura of danger around Xavier’s mind. “Now,” she says, with her voice low, deadly - “Who is it, again, that  _ dares _ to touch my daughter?”

It’s so sudden that it causes him to shake, that cold trail of guilt up his spine when her eyes meet his. And then it’s like a shot of wine, a shot of vodka, mixed together with a bottle of whiskey just like the way Jeannette used to drink and he sees her- her black hair, black dress, those horribly torn dark eyes that only ever spell out contempt and it’s a sudden, jutting pain in his head.

And then the venom- for that’s surely what it was- makes its way into his veins and as it hits the bloodstream, he goes lax. He can almost feel his legs wanting to give out from under him, getting more and more unsteady as time had drawn on, and he’s letting them, too far to even grip at his skin or give it a second thought because everything’s been washed into a dim yellow haze. 

He looks up and the second his eyes meet hers, every thought flies from his head, and then his head is tilting back at the simplistic shot that seems to echo in his brain, resounding inside the walls of his skull, but he can’t bring himself to care- it’s bright, hot flashes of white, and he’s sweating, shaky himself awake again and-  _ what had he been doing? _ He can’t think, it’s far too dim and there are lights flashing behind his eyes as everything keeps firing and the woman’s hand is around his wrist and…

“Fuck me,” he groans, completely startled, but even then he doesn’t want to move, he wants to sit there and force the lights to pop again and feel it clogging up his skin so wonderfully-

“You should go, while he’s still dazed. I’ll find you later.”

“M-Mother-”

“Etsuko,  _ go _ .”

And that’s what makes Etsuko stumble to her feet, staggering away, until she can’t hear her mother’s harsh words or the grunts of the Vigilante or anything but the snow whipping around her.  _ God _ , but she’s so cold, trembling, dizzy - she only hopes that she’s headed in the right direction, trying to make a mental map of where Etienne had been staying the past few nights, and though she’s not coming up with it quite as easily as she’d want, she lets her feet carry her, as if they have a memory of their own.

It takes a moment to realize that she’d stopped, standing in front of a house, swaying with the gusts of wind the snow ride on, and she doesn’t realize at first that her stole has slipped from her shoulders, slumping on the snowbanks . . . she shakes harder and wraps her arms around herself, holding herself close as she looks up to the house she’d stopped before, where she thinks she can remember Etienne being . . .

She stumbles to the steps and takes them one shuddering step at a time, falling heavily against the guard rail at one point, her breaths shaking, her body numb and the wind so  _ cold _ . . . she finds herself missing a step, and she falls, her shoulders and arms slamming into a solid wooden door that she can’t get through, that won’t open, and  _ that shouldn’t be strange but it is and she’s cold and she wants to be inside but is Etienne even there . . . _

She knocks, once, twice, maybe more . . . and she keeps doing the motion, at least until she finds the door giving away beneath her, as she falls lightly to the ground and shakes with her hollow breaths.

 

* * *

 

 

The knocks are enough to startle him from where he’s leaning back in a thin wooden chair and it’s only seconds before he’s clambering to answer the door, even though he’s sure the scowl is still drawn across his face and his fingertips are still bleeding, hands caked in ink, but he’s shoving it open nonetheless, ignoring the stains his fingers leave around the handle.

And  _ she’s  _ there, trembling and shaking with tears running down her cheeks, freezing in the chill of the winter night. Her breath is so shallow that it can’t even be seen in the frosty air, and he’s instantly grabbing her and pulling her through the door, slamming it shut behind him and latching the bolts.

She’s freezing, and he can tell as soon as he touches her skin- practically chilled to the bone, and it’s a thought to make him laugh. But even though he’s stronger now, even though he’d regained at least a bit of strength, ot doesn’t hide that he’s impossibly skinny, too frail to even hold her upright without knocking himself to the ground… he settles for dragging her as best as he can, pushing an arm under her knees and pulling her up to lie on his bed.

The room must be too much, and for that, he’s at least happy to see that her eyelids are shut tightly. Because he doesn’t want her to see him like this- covered in blood and ink, his shirt practically tearing at the seams and dark circles beneath his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, looking down at her, before he’s pacing, and his hand hits the wall, balled into a fist, enough for his knuckles to skin…

And the pictures are hung up everywhere, all he can see is  _ Xavier. Xavier, Xavier, Xavier, his neck snapped, his arms broken, his throat ripped apart, eyes torn out, fingers smashed, gut torn open and bloody bloody bloody… _

“E-Etsuko,” he mutters. “Oh, Etsuko… I… r-really wish you hadn’t come to me… n-not like this…” He leans down next to her, his filthy hand grabbing for hers, cold and icy white, and he presses lips to her forehead gently, pulling the blankets up and over her body. “Shh… I… I’ve been g-getting better. Working… working so hard… b-but it’s so difficult when they watch me like this… I know you’ve been watching me… it’s a-almost sweet… but so very cruel.”

He’s standing again, and knocking over the glass cups on the table, listening to them hit the floor, not minding as he steps in and around fragments, before he swallows. He should… blankets weren’t enough. He should make her tea, check her temperature…

_ Body heat.  _ Although it would be wrong if he said he didn’t want that for… other reasons. Yes, to feel her skin again, to feel it against his own feverish body, to melt into her flesh and disappear… if just for a short while.

_ Fuck it.  _ He’s peeling off his clothes, climbing into the bed, pulling back covers and curling around her, pressing her head to his chest as he feels all the warmth seeped from his body. And yes, yes, it seems to be working, at least somewhat, but she’s still so frozen and…

“You c-can’t fucking leave me.”

Her eyes begin to flicker open as she feels something  _ searing _ against her, so hot, like the fires and infernos she loves to set . . . and it makes her heart beat a thousand times a minute faster as hot brands wrap around her, pull her against that hot source, with the heat bleeding through her dress and melting the snow that’s freezing around her and . . . and . . .

_ Fuck _ , she needs it closer, she’s so numb, and he’s the only thing she can feel- she’s fumbling so uselessly at the back of her collar, trying to undo the buttons there, let herself press against whatever the heat was with the whole length of her body - but she can’t do it, and she slams her fist against the mattress with a sob, because she’s so  _ cold _ and there’s heat  _ right there _ but she can’t reach it like this, and it’s all she wants and please  _ let me burn if it means I can feel alive again, please, just let me burn. _

She hardly realizes when burning hands are at the back of her neck, undoing the buttons of her dress, helping to slide it down her torso and over her hips and off her legs to leave her entirely bare, to shudder and spasm against the cold air . . . but then she’s being pulled back, encased in a warm flame, and she lets out a weak, desperate little cry as she curls up against the warmth, the closest thing she has to something she can feel.

Eventually, her eyes tremble open, and she begins to . . . begins to recognize the body against her, the warmth, the soft kisses being laid to her hairline. “Eh . . . eti-” she starts, before stammering out his name, wishing she could be closer as she tangles legs around his and presses as close as she can to his body . . .

He can’t help laying light kisses to her icy skin as she begins to come to, because she’s pressed against him so entirely that it chills him to the  _ bone _ , that she’s leeching off his heat, but he can’t care because Etsuko’s growing warm again, just like she’s always supposed to be, and he doesn’t want her to lose the fire she has left, the  _ warmth _ she’s finally regaining.

But it’s a relief, to see her eyes open and blinking at him. It’s a relief to know that she’s back- at least somewhat- and in his arms, in the way they always used to be. And he lets a steady, hot breath tease over her cheeks as he breathes out a shaky, “Hey,” without much substance, just a shaky whisper that causes her eyes to meet his, and it’s then that he’s pulling away, wrapping the blankets around her, relieved that  _ it had fucking worked and she was here and _ …

He didn’t want her to see him like this. What would she… what would she think? Of course, it was Etsuko, and he doesn’t have any… well, yeah, he does. That would be utter bullshit- there’s a reason he hadn’t seen her, a reason he  _ couldn’t.  _ And he’s straightening himself up, running black fingers over his chest, looking around before he’s pulling himself to the kitchen and thinking about what he should get-  _ tea and medicine _ , both of which the Doctor had made sure he was fully stocked in.

Still, he can’t help burning himself when he lights the kettle, and he lets a sharp hiss escape from between his lips as he turns around. And he can feel the glass in his feet, but he doesn’t really care right now… it doesn’t matter unless he starts bleeding all over the floor, because he  _ hates  _ cleaning up messes…

He hears her say something from the other room, heaves a breath as he calls back, “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please, don’t… don’t move.”

She can’t hear him very well, not when she’s still shaking and still trying to catch her breath and wanting to be goddamn  _ warm _ again . . . but she’s so tightly wrapped in blankets she knows she can’t get free, but that still doesn’t stop her from wanting  _ him _ , her goddamn  _ Etienne _ , even if that wasn’t his name anymore . . . and how could she know, when she hadn’t seen him in so long? More than anything, she just- just wants him back . . .

It’s a struggle to get out of bed, with the blankets still wrapped around her tightly despite the weak grip of her hands; her feet are bare on the floor, and they’re  _ cold _ , probably as pale as the rest of her . . . but they at least keep her up, letting her stumble with a zombie-gait as she wanders to the kitchen, where Etienne had disappeared, where she could hear his muffled voice before . . .

She can focus her eyes just enough to see him in front of the stove, with his fingertips stained black and with dark bags beneath his eyes . . . and he’s naked, and it’s almost funny because  _ he stripped down just to hold me _ , and that’s all the incentive she needs to stumble closer and press herself against his body with a tired sigh.

She feels him stiffen, and feels his hands like warm brands on her shoulders, to try and make her go back . . . but she shakes her head and presses closer, raises her shaking hands to grab at him and hold him, and she can feel him slowly stop pushing her away so he’s at least standing there, and not resisting.

“You’re . . . like a flame . . . it makes me feel like burning . . .” she breathes against him, pressing her cheek to his chest, curling her arms around him, though the blanket’s dropping to the floor and she can’t pick it up because he’s her pillar and he’s too searing to let go of . . .

“Shh,” he whispers, pressing lips back to her forehead as he strokes back her hair, trying to get her to relax, to calm herself down… “You shouldn’t… s-shouldn’t be moving around, not… l-like this.” He guides her over to the chair by the table, forces her to take a seat with the blankets pulled back up and around her shoulders as he wanders back to the stove, pours the tea into a cup and sets it on the table in front of her.

He pulls the other chair so it’s pressed against the one Etsuko’s in, and he wraps his arms around her, pulls her closer so they can huddle there, and he spreads the medicine clenched in his fist out on the table, pulling her closer again. She needs… needs to take it and then they can go back to bed. But all she seems to want to do is cling to him, and she’s still so cold, and he doesn’t have the heart to say anything.

So he just grabs her and picks her up and carries her back into the other room, stepping around the clothes strewn on the floor and pushing her back down on the bed, sliding in next to her again. “You need to see the doctor,” he says to her. “You’re so… you’re so cold. I can’t… we need to check your temperature, you… you shouldn’t be moving around. I… I-I’ll stay with you, just p-please… don’t move.”

“Nnn . . .” she tries to say something in protest, but he’s so goddamn  _ warm _ . It reminds her of all the fire she’s ever set, every inferno she’d danced in, but a thousand times  _ hotter _ , and so good it leaves her shaking and trying to push closer to him, even when they’re skin to skin already. She laces her arms and legs around him until they’re too tangled for her to tell where he stops and she begins, and for the moment, it’s all she wants.

But then the memories of that evening start surfacing, and she starts remembering her mother’s warm embrace, holding her so close and covering her eyes in a way that always  _ comforted _ her . . . and she remembers a man on the ground, his wrist in her mother’s grip, and the reminder of  _ that face _ makes her suddenly tense up and curl inwards, the reminder of a gun pointing at her head and the way her eyes had teared up at the very thought of it -

“Nonono,” she stammers as she holds Etienne tighter, digs her nails into his back, presses herself closer even when he’s trying to make her loosen up, relax, but her heart is pounding again at the thought as if she can feel the gun at her forehead again and she’s crying with snot dripping down her face as she starts sobbing wildly into Etienne’s chest just repeating “I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die  _ Mother, Etienne, help me-! _ ”

He can’t make sense of it- her words are jumbled, and all he can tell is that she’s having some sort of breakdown, shaking and clinging to him and screaming about not wanting to  _ die  _ and fuck-! He wants to shake her, but then her eyes have settled on something above his bed, and she’s clinging to him even more desperately, and wailing, and he’s looking around and wondering and then-

“Did he hurt you?” He asks, so quickly and so harshly that he can’t stop himself… His nails dig into her skin, tearing into it, feeling the skin begin to break beneath his fingertips as he forces her to look him in the eye. “ _ Did he fucking hurt you, Etsuko?”  _ Because he swears to God, that bastard is going to  _ hang _ , his neck is going to  _ snap  _ and everyone’s gonna watch as he lies limp in that noose, his eyes drained of all color-!

And then he’s drawing in a deep breath, looking down at the way his hands have been wringing her flesh and he’s forcing himself away from her, back against the wall because he didn’t mean to hurt her, didn’t  _ want  _ to hurt her… “Fuck, Etsuko, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ I… d-didn’t mean to, I-I didn’t  _ mean  _ to…” He grasps for the wall with his hand, scrabbling at it with nails recently soaked in blood, and he looks at her, wide eyes, but she’s pressing against him still, and yet all he cares about is- “Did he  _ hurt _ you?!”

“ _ Etienne _ ,” is all she whimpers, reaching for him, wanting him to come back and warm her up again and be that warm beacon that was making her feel okay . . . she’s not even sure what had scared him, what he thought he’d done, only that where his fingers had touched there was new warmth there, but that she still needed him and wanted him and would rather be engulfed by him than sink back into the cold outside like she fears-

She finds herself sniffling, and it feels so goddamn out of character and she  _ hates _ it after all the times she’d been told to keep it together for the sake of her sisters and her mother and the poor Amnesiac who’d found her choking on smoke that night, but she can’t stop. She just keeps reaching for him, wanting him back, closer, warmer - she didn’t even care what he did or how he did it,  _ she just wants him _ .

“Etienne,” she says again, a little louder, but still as shaky, still as . . . as desperate. “C-Cold,” is all she can insist, sniffling and sobbing and curling inwards on herself as she shakes. “C-Came at me with a gun . . . M-Mother, Mother saved me, she covered my eyes and p-protected me . . . thought I was g-g-gonna die . . .” she curls in more, covering her head, whimpering a little, “Etienne, I’m so c-cold,” as she does.

“Fuck,” he snaps, but he’s still pulling her closer, hiding her face and her cold tears against the crook of his neck, pulling the blankets over them both, pressing his face to hers and breathing across her eyelids so she could open them without them being too frozen.

He simply lays there like that, her head pressed into his chest, for God knows how long, listening to her unsteady breathing and feeling her shaking and trying to heat her cold skin. He looks down at her, blinking a couple times as he tries to focus on her face, but he can’t say anything else, all he knows is that Xavier needs to fucking die, because his Vigilante bullshit almost killed  _ Etsuko,  _ and that’s unforgivable.

That’s the only thought he has before he’s falling asleep, his thin legs, hot and sweaty tangled around her limp, cold ones, and his hands tangled in red hair.

 

* * *

 

 

She’d fallen asleep against him - she remembers that much, at least - but when she opens her eyes, for as close as she still is to him, there’s somebody  _ else _ there, and she tenses up like lightning until a gentle hand falls against her eyes, making them shut, as a quiet “shh” comes from above.

“M-Mother . . .”

“It’s alright, dearest,” the Witch purrs above her, running a hand through her blood-red hair, her voice so calm and soothing that Etsuko can’t help but relax again on instinct. “That Vigilante is back in his home, strapped to his bed - he isn’t going to hurt you anymore.”

“Wh-what did you . . . do to him?”

“He has no memory of tonight. And if he tries to remember it, he’ll have  _ my _ face to look at, and we both know how people get when they think of me,” she says, and Etsuko can just  _ visualize _ the little smirk her mother must be wearing, just like the pride in her voice, so . . . so  _ powerful _ and protective and maternal and just . . .

She relaxes in her hold and lets her continue to brush her hair, gentle, smooth, and she closes her eyes and pulls her sleeping Etienne closer. She doesn’t think to ask questions, like how her mother got in or how Etienne was even going to react . . . but she’s happy enough to be  _ warm _ again, to have her thoughts back in order, and she opens her eyes just a little so she can look around Etienne’s room . . .

_ Bloody sketches _ .

She gasps and pulls Etienne closer on reflex, so tense she can feel her mother stop as she looks around the room.

_ Bloody sketches are hanging from the walls. _

The only thing that penetrates the deep sleep he’s trapped in is a deep gasp, a harsh shudder, and he briefly manages to flicker his eyes open, looking around as he focuses on Etsuko, his eyes boring into hers, and she’s pulling away, quickly enough that it causes him to groan sharply, rolling onto his back as he gives a glance around- she’s looking desperately for something, for someone, and he’s heard her talking but now…

He tries to pull her closer, extends an arm and grabs her by the wrist as he’s sitting up and the blankets are falling off of his body, exposed so entirely, and he almost thinks to feel ashamed- thinking back, he’s eating even less than he had the last time he’d seen Etsuko, and he’d never been nearly this tired, had always gotten more sleep at the Doctor’s home… Still, he blinks, looking at her and trying to pull her closer still, and then he’s standing and letting out a tiny wince at the feeling of his feet hitting the floor, shards stuck so deeply in his heel that he shivers.

And it’s cold. Now he’s cold, without Etsuko, and he wants her back, wants her close, but he can tell exactly what she’s looking at and how he’d startled her and his hands are black and red still and she’s looking at the marks dug deep into her arm, and he can’t think of anything to say… “Please… E-Etsuko, just… d-don’t. T-there’s nothing… d-don’t leave, fuck…”

She shivers immediately as he pulls back, as she finds her Mother’s disappeared. But there are sketches  _ everywhere _ , some in ink and charcoal and smeared with red paint (was that blood?  _ Was it?! _ ), and she recognizes the face: Xavier. The same man who’d attacked her, who her mother had to subdue . . .

She looks back to Etienne, whos’ standing there with a guilty expression, and then she feels a twing of  _ pain _ through her arm that makes her look down and notice dried blood and tears in her skin that had to have come from nails. And she can  _ remember _ now, she can remember how she’d panicked and he’d gripped her so hard he’d left warmth lingering on her skin, all because he was so desperate to know about  _ him _ , the man plastered on his walls, that- that  _ Vigilante _ . . .

She looks back to him and shakes, both from fear and just- just being so goddamn  _ cold _ , and she hates it, how she shakes even after the warmth of before, and she bites her lip and tries to think of what to say, anything from  _ did you draw these _ to  _ what did he do _ and even  _ you’re an executioner? You were so innocent before . . . _

She lowers her face, and swallows, and meets his eyes with her stern, red ones. But the words that come out aren’t ones she would’ve thought, even in her nearly monotone voice-

“Oh, Etienne. You could have  _ told _ me.”

He almost forgets how to speak, because it hadn’t even crossed his  _ mind.  _ Telling Etsuko, just… just telling her what had… everything that had happened, everything that  _ he’d  _ done, everything that he’d done to  _ Jeannette  _ and even himself. And he swallows, looking down, unable to keep his eyes focused on hers. “I couldn’t. Not without… not… I just… I  _ couldn’t,  _ okay?”

But even then, he’s grabbing for her hands, pulling her back to him and away from the rather sharp mess on the floor she’s been steadily inching toward. He presses a kiss to her cheek, then to her other one, tugging her to sit down on the bed again, and looking down at her, turning to pace again with hands pressing circles into his brow.

“There’s… what do you expect me to  _ say?  _ I can’t- I don’t… he deserves to  _ die,  _ o-okay? That’s… that’s what  _ matters.  _ And J-Jeannette… she’s going to help me… fuck, fuck… Etsuko, I…” He closes his mouth, biting down on his lip until he tastes blood and looks over at her again, flicking his eyes around, swallowing back a loud sigh, before he takes a seat next to her. He wraps an arm around her, pulls her back to him, has her lie down again.

“You’re w-warm now.” He says, and then he’s looking down to the ground, to his feet, and he’s reaching down to pull the shards out from the skin, try and clear it out and focus on something besides the pain, and then he’d looking back up to her and pressing a kiss to her lips as he tries to keep her from moving, from talking, because the last thing he wants is questions now, and this was already better than he could’ve hoped.

“Y-You’re hurt,” she says, noticing the bloody glass he was pulling out of the soles of his feet, how the blood had crusted over the edges in a way that showed they’d been in there for  _ quite _ some time . . . she puts a hand to his shoulder and gets up, slowly, unsteady on her feet, before explaining “I’ll get a first aid kid,” and stumbling back to the kitchen where she’d seen it.

He’s clearly obsessed, is all she can notice as she stumbles to the little counter where he’d laid his first-aid kit, as she looks at all the pictures drawn and torn and slashed on the walls. She’s a little surprised at how good of an artist he is, at least in the ones she can still see . . . but he’s also left gashes in several of them, probably from knives or his own hands or even some glass shards, and it worries her how he could draw one person over and over again and then slash at the work until his fingers were stained and bloody . . .

_ He’s really done horrible things _ , is all she can think before she’s stumbling back to his room, first aid kit in hand, and sitting next to him again as she passes it to him.

“Y-You’ve got better hand-eye coordination at the moment . . . you can do it, I hope,” she says as she leans against him with all of her weight, eyes closing without her okay. “God, I’m  _ exhausted _ . . . I . . . was I so bad when I got here? I remember bits and pieces, and I remember falling awfully hard against the railing and the door, but I can’t remember feeling much except numbness. Probably wasn’t feeling as bad as your feet do now, though . . .”

“No, no. It’s- it’s fine,” he says to her, using the tweezers and pulling the rest of the thin shards out from the split flesh, and working over the area with a cloth, quickly bandaging the spots he could see most clearly, before giving her a once over- he’s not surprised when he finds a couple stray shards lodged in her heel, and he’s reaching over to pull them out as well, kissing the sole of her foot despite just how unsanitary it must be, before he’s wrapping bandages over the injured spots.

“You were… p-pretty bad.” He whispers. “Hypothermia, I think… you w-were shaking, wouldn’t l-let go of me, c-could hardly stand. It killed me to see you like that.” He grips her by the wrist, tugging her back into his arms. “Don’t ever let yourself get sick like that… I-I could lose you. I- fuck- if I l-lost you…” He curls arms around her presses his face to her neck, and next think he knows he’s heaving sobs against her bare chest, tears spilling over from his eyes as he tugs her closer and lies down, face buried against her skin.

He’s still naked, still too cold in the tiny, unheated room, but it’s enough to just be holding her and yes, yes  _ he should’ve told her that night _ , but he was too weak, and too foolish, and he couldn’t-! He briefly thinks about how much has changed, and supposes it’s not as bad as it could have been, especially when they’re both healthy for the most part, and  _ alive _ , and…

“I love you. Goddamn, I l-love you. D-don’t leave me.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it, at least not tonight,” she says. She wraps her arms around him and presses his face against her breasts, lets him cry however much he needs to . . .she even fingers his hair a little bit, combs it just like her mother had done for her, keeping her touch gentle.  _ He’s shaking, _ she thinks, and it reminds her of the hypothermia and holding  _ him _ so close she worried he’d split apart and disappear. Was that what he was afraid of now? Her just- fracturing apart?

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m right here,” she whispers as she lays a kiss to his brow. “You can explain everything in the morning . . . I can wait that long. I’m just happy that you’re okay, though you should be eating more,” she adds. “It’s . . . scary to see your ribs like this, Etienne.”

She can’t say as much - she looks just as skinny, and her bottom rib at the least can be picked out just from sight - but it doesn’t erase her concerns. She pulls him closer and mutters something about “I should see if we can get some food somewhere . . . Misha’s a decent cook, she hasn’t tried to poison anybody yet . . .”

At the very least, though, she’s happy that he’s still warm -  _ alive _ . She brushes his hair back again and kisses his forehead again, muttering his name, still worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for him to calm down.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he chokes out between sobs, meeting his eyes with Etsuko’s, looking up from where his face was pressed against her chest as his arms cling to her more tightly, wrapped around her body in a way that showed just how unwilling he was to let go. He thinks, momentarily, that he should tell her, about what had happened, about everything- but he’s not going to, not now.

He pulls her closer and moves up, shifts so he can press kisses to her lips and her cheeks and just revel in the heat that comes from her now, the heat she should always have, and  _ last night scared him so much, thought he’d lose her- _

“‘m fine,” he says to her, giving her a look, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck, insistent and somewhat messy as he bites down. But that’s as far as he goes- he wants to stay here and just revel in her warmth and cling to her and just find solace.

Because she’s the only one who can make him feel human, and not like a machine.

The bite to her shoulder surprises her, enough to let out a shaky moan at the pain it brought. She pulls in a shaky breath and buries her face in his hair for a moment, trying to push off the stimulus of before . . . but  _ dammit _ if he wasn’t attractive, even now with how obsessive he seemed, and he even still had that stutter of his that she’d always enjoyed . . .

“You . . . really haven’t changed that much,” she notes as she closes her eyes and breathes against him. “You’re still the same Etienne that first saved me from the smoke. Just now, you have a drive . . .

“Let me help you,” she finally says. And she can hear him trying to protest, but she shakes her head and pulls him closer with a kiss to his brow. “No excuses. I’m part of this too now, and so is my mother. We’ll all figure this out, together. And if you want to see that man on the noose, then we’ll see to it. We all have our ways, after all.

“But first . . .” she sighs and pulls away so she can meet his eyes. “First, it seems to me that I should know where, exactly, I stand in your picture. Because you say a lot, and I can tell you idolize me . . . but you should know I’m no damsel,” she says. And that just makes him look  _ peeved _ , and the expression makes the corners of her lips twitch, and she lies back and can’t help but drawl, “I’ve said it before . . . I like it when you’re so  _ frustrated _ with me, Etienne . . . now if only I could see it  _ more _ . . .”

“I-I…” he tries to start, but he ends up swallowing hard, practically choking on the lump caught in his throat. What exactly was she to him…? What was it he saw when he looked at her that made him want to save her? Why should he care so desperately for this woman when he had known so little about her? It wasn’t for her looks- although Etsuko had a certain beauty of her own- and it wasn’t for her personality, because he hadn’t known her at the time.

Maybe it was… her aura. She practically radiated free spirited energy, a vivacious quality that he never wanted to disappear… “I d-don’t know.” He says finally. “Don’t know… why. B-But I know that I… love you. And that’s… a-all that matters.” He presses a kiss to the curve of her breast, feels her hand fist in his hair, and that’s enough to cause him to press more, trailing from her breasts up to her neck, up to her mouth, where he slips tongue between lips and tastes her.

“Even if you a-arent a damsel… I want to be your k-knight.” And that’s all that he needs to say. Because she cares- she’s always cared, as messed up as he’s been, and he doesn’t know if he’d even be here if it weren’t for her. He would’ve left, would’ve died, would’ve forgotten again. But that doesn’t matter now- because he has her. 

“And yes, you’re a very  _ frustrating  _ girl.”

She loves the kiss, absolutely  _ loves _ it, the way it trails up her breast and over her neck and presses down on her lips. And she can’t help tangling her fingers in his hair, kissing him back with a smile, a little teasing note of her tongue against his lips, threatening to slip into his mouth - but he pulls back, and speaks, and it’s almost funny how he insists on protecting her, when she’s so much of a danger to him already . . .

But, he  _ does _ add the last part, and she chuckles lightly before kissing him again, so soft, too delicate for what he seems to need. “What’s the fun in all of this if I don’t get to see you  _ snap _ ?” she purrs. “After all, you know what my sisters are like, and heaven knows I take so much from them . . . not to mention the pyromania in my head.”

For as joking as she is, she can’t help but remember . . . the arsonist. There was an arsonist and Xavier and just recently a  _ new _ Serial Killer (when had he arrived? The town hadn’t grown at all), so things are looking so bad for the town it’s worrisome. Not that it matters to her - she’s wholely neutral at that point - but the thought that Etienne could be caught in the crossfire, or even her  _ sisters _ . . .

“Where are we meant to start in all of this mess . . .?” she muses as she closes her eyes. “People are beginning to see the aura surrounding me . . . this crazed, uncontrollable aura . . . and soon they’ll insist on putting me onto the lynching stand . . . and to prevent that, we must find the arsonist.”

“I’ll find him,” he says shortly, pressing his face to her hair and taking in the scent as he revels in the shade of blood red. “T-the arsonist. I can… J-Jeannette can help.” He says, mentally running over that statement- they needed to silence him, and an arsonist could only be silenced for so long. But he… he needed to protect Etsuko.  _ His  _ Etsuko. And he would gladly give up anything for her to be safe.

If it was his sister, the Doctor, his own life, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Because all he knows is that Etsuko must live, and he can’t… he can’t just let her fucking  _ die  _ and he can’t just leave her alone like that and…

**“We’re going to make it… y-you and me, Etsuko. Against everything e-else, you and I are g-going to find a way to live. And I-I’ll make sure anyone who gets in our way _dies_.” **


	5. Mother

She doesn’t want to admit to how the stress had piled on her shoulders, the way day after day she was found curling more and more inward with worry and fear and concern. She doesn’t like to let people see her this way, so nervous and anxious that she consistently looked like she was ready to devour somebody . . . but then again, she knows there isn’t a way to hide it, not when they have to keep meeting in the town circle day after day after day . . .

Maybe if she thought Etienne was well at all - maybe if she hadn’t seen the bloody, torn images of that stupid Vigilante who’d held a gun to her head, who’d threatened her life. Or maybe if she thought Misha was well at all, because while she seemed most . . .  _ normal _ at nighttime where she could go and kill, she was getting more antsy and angry and snapping at everybody that tried to talk to her- or maybe, just maybe, if she didn’t feel like she was going to be lynched someday. If the crimes weren’t being pinned on  _ her _ .

So she stops eating, at least eating any sort of amount, and she knows that her sisters worry as they watch her dress and see her ribs become more and more defined morning after morning. And she doesn’t sleep well, at least not consistently; she goes to bed late and wakes too early. And, of course, her fingers itch so badly, and she wants to  _ burn _ , she wants to make something burn and she wants to set it alight and she wants to be surrounded in kindling flames that rise higher than her head and into the fuckin’  _ stars _ -

But that was the worst of it - she couldn’t. Several days after her run-in with Etienne - weeks ago now, too long between visits - she realized she had no lighter. That little silver box, one that had always comforted her . . . it was gone.

It’s maybe the worst fact of it all - and it’s what really starts breaking her down as she stands in the town circle weeks later, swaying on her feet and gripping her arms so tightly with the desire to set something on fire . . .

 

* * *

 

 

He’d noticed, staring across that dismal circle every day, feeling the eyes on him, and on her, and on that fucking lynching stand… he’d noticed that Etsuko wasn’t doing well. And maybe it was wrong, that he hadn’t spoken to her in weeks- he’d never been exactly the best at keeping up with people, especially not with a relationship, and as much as he wanted to confront her, he figured it would just push her further away.

It didn’t help that he was preoccupied, either. Every waking minute was spent thinking, spending so much time in his own head he thought it would  _ burst _ . He’d been breaking things more often, unable to keep even the smallest thing in his life from fracturing. If Jeannette forced him to eat, it was barely any time before he vomited it back up, and if he was struck up in conversation by anyone, the best he’d do was reply with single, one word answers.

It didn’t seem like things were going anywhere fast, and that thought  _ alone _ was enough that he was already unable to focus. He’d questioned himself, time and time again, contemplated leaving, contemplated just… just  _ running away _ , but where would that leave Etsuko? Because as much as he had his own interests and motives, he had hers too. And maybe it was foreign, needing someone like this, but… fuck, if he didn’t owe her, didn’t  _ love _ her, even. 

So it’s not too late, after the town square has cleared and there’s little more than the sound of wind blowing through trees and the noose of the lynching stand left swinging, that he seeks her out. 

“Etsuko,” he whispers, and though he can’t be sure if she’s heard him, he reaches out to her anyway, not surprised when she starts and pulls away, looking up to him with surprise evident on her face. “E-Etsuko… I… I know we h-haven’t talked lately… I just… a-are you okay?”

“Etienne,” is all she says as she bites her lower lip. “I . . . sh-should be asking you that. You’re well? Taking care of yourself?”

It’s hypocritical, she  _ knows _ that - but it’s all she can make herself ask at that point, with her head spinning and her balance so off. She’s surprised she’s still standing, she feels so weak - and the reminder of the lynching stand just out of the corner of her eye makes it all the worse. Just the thought of it - who should be hanging and how she’d nearly died there once before - makes her shake her head a little and try to focus on Etienne’s face again.

“D-Do you have any ideas? A . . . about Xavier,” she says all too quietly. “I don’t kn-know how you want to- I mean, how to get him up there. Is Jeannette . . . working on things? Taking care of- of framing him? M-Maybe if we called him a Mafioso we’d have an easier time, s-so . . .” she closes her eyes and puts a hand to her forehead, though it doesn’t help her balance, and she just flicks her eyes open immediately again. Even with her two normal eyes still seeing, it’s still worse on her balance as the world spins.

It’s only a few seconds before she’s arching forward, wavering in her position, and then she’s falling and it’s all he can do to try and grab her before she hits the ground. But even then, his arms are far too weak, and he’s sure they’re about the same in build at this point, but even then he ust feels…  _ fragile. Helpless. _

He’s trying to ease her to the ground, kneeling next to her because  _ it’s so fucking obvious that she’s not okay  _ and  _ dammit, Etsuko, why do you do this to yourself?  _ Because the last three times they’ve been together, she’s collapsed- exhaustion, cold- and he’s worried, and fuck if she can’t see that. She knows him well enough to know that he cares about her. Even if… even if sometimes he was so selfish and just wanted to escape it all, he couldn’t leave her, and she knew it.

“Etsuko… I-I’ve got to… I’m going t-to try and… and get you somewhere s-so you can… I… fuck, I don’t… c-can’t think.” He can’t even force a legible sentence out- it’s all so quick, and so jumbled, and he can hardly think, but he can hear the footsteps against pavement and against all better instinct, he looks up-

There are hands, reaching for Etsuko, and he can see her trembling and he wants so badly to do something, but he  _ can’t.  _ And maybe it’s always been like this, because he’s tried to save her, but he can’t do it anymore, and… maybe it’s better. And he’s looking up to the woman, and all he can do is force out a stammered, “P-please… help her…”

He looks  _ pathetic _ .

Honestly, groveling on the ground like that, too weak to do anything - and her daughter still spoke so highly of him? What a joke. She raises a neatly trimmed brow at him as he seem to  _ beg _ her - a pointless sentiment if there ever was one.

“And you think,” she asks with a pointed stare, “That I  _ wouldn’t _ ? Oh, dear, you never  _ have _ heard of me, have you . . .?” To be honest, she can’t blame him - Etsuko wouldn’t reveal her identity to  _ anyone _ , even if pressed with death. It was one of the things she loved about her precious, sweet little daughter . . .

. . . the sweet little daughter who’d worn herself out far  _ too _ badly. She sighs and sinks down as she wraps arms around her sweet little Etsuko, the fragile sweetheart. She can feel her gasp against her breast - “M-Mother?” is all she can seem to gasp out, with her eyes fluttering closed and lips trembling.

“Sweetheart,” she says. Her voice is so much softer like this, as she lifts her daughter from the ground and helps support her in her arms. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself . . . and neither has your beloved,” she says with a pointed stare to Etienne. “Have your sisters no backbone? They must have seen to it that you’d be well.”

“I . . .” Etsuko doesn’t seem to be able to say much - another thing to break off a piece of her heart especially as her daughter curls closer, hides her face in her breast. “Mother, I . . .”

“Rest, sweetheart,” she says simply as her daughter’s eyes fall closed, before she gives a final glance to the man - more like  _ boy _ \- staring up at her from the ground.

“Speak of this to no one,” she hisses, “And when I feel the time is right, I will call for you. Do not doubt that.”

She turns on her heel and begins to walk away.

 

* * *

 

 

He knows how pathetic it is when he reaches forward, wraps a hand around one of her pale ankles and looks up at her. Her eyes are practically boring holes into his skull- but the most  _ that  _ does is cause him to let out a dull laugh, before coughing, hand wrapping around his side as he lurches forward, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

The two things he’s most sure of right now are that this is Etsuko’s mother, the Witch, and that  _ he doesn’t want her to take Etsuko away from him _ . No, it’s… it’s his fault she’s like this, and goddamn, he must’ve been adding an obsessive amount of stress back to her, and… it was so selfish. He felt ashamed of how much… how much  _ bullshit  _ he’d been causing.

“W-want to come with y-you.” He stammers. “W-want Etsuko… know you’ll take care of her… b-but I need t-to see…” He knows it might be wrong, that he’s practically begging to be by her side, that he doesn’t want to leave her, that this is being forced, and it’s making him so angry. But everything makes him angry these days, and he’s swallowing his thoughts and pulling away from the Witch, trying to regain some semblance of stability, remove the pounding in his head.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his head facing the ground, hair falling in his eyes as he leans forward still, trying to balance himself with one hand as he pulls himself to his feet and tries to reach out to her. His legs are too weak though, too fucking weak, and he doesn’t know why, but he’s stumbling, dragging his leg behind him as he tries to grab Etsuko’s hand.

What a desperate little boy. So desperate . . . and so  _ weak _ for some reason. She reaches out and easily finds the source of the problem, a matter of low blood sugar and several walls placed in his mind (most likely by himself with his stubbornness) that she finds herself giving a harsh sigh to as she magically bats them away. The moment she does is the moment his eyes go startlingly wide, hunger clearly overtaking him, as if he’s getting ready to beg-

“Oh, you’re a  _ mess _ . You’re going to cause all kinds of attention,” she says as she finally weaves her cloak of stealth over him as well, just to ensure they weren’t seen. “Fine, you may accompany me, but don’t crawl and keep your voice down. What my daughter sees in you, I don’t know, but clearly there must be  _ something _ .”

She forces him to his feet, her magic leashed tight around him and forcing him to follow her at a decent pace. More than anything, her priority is in getting her darling daughter to safety, first; she can tell she hasn’t been eating, has been all too worried about her sisters and her friends and the boy behind her, but more than that, she’s plain  _ exhausted _ . “No wonder she seems so ill; she feels like skin and bones. Well, if that’s not something to try and remedy.”

The bright side is that she can feel Etsuko curling closer to her, eyes shut but still somewhat conscious - a relief as she makes it to an old abandoned house and kicks the door open with a frown. It’s the old Mayor’s house, of course - nobody was likely to approach it after all the rumors that had been spread (most popular was that the Jailer killed him, and oh, if they  _ had _ , then they were looking such a more  _ appealing _ target day by day, especially with their tired eyes and weakness in the day, though their eyes looked brighter and brighter as time passed, which was a nuisance.)

Regardless. She makes sure the boy closes the door behind him and ensures her magic lock kicks in before she approaches the living room and carefully lies Etsuko down on the couch. “I’ll go make a meal for the two of you, as long as you trust me not to poison it,” she says with rolled eyes. “I’ll be back in nothing but a moment’s time.”

He’s not sure he exactly  _ trusts  _ the Witch. But he can’t exactly fault her either, especially not when Etsuko seems so dependent on her- it’s clear that she needs her in a lot of ways, and he has to respect that, even if the Witch’s motives rubbed him the wrong way. Not that he’s going to voice any objections, because she’s Etsuko’s mother, and he’s not exactly on the list of people suitable to judge familial ties. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him from eying the woman warily as she leaves the room, running one of his pale hands through Etsuko’s thick red hair, his bony fingers combing through it with such ease it was almost unimaginable. She was beautiful like this, he thought, even though he knows it’s wrong to think of it. But overstressed and run dry with exhaustion, the dark circles shading her eyes that he’s sure are far too similar to his own… she looks so tired, so beautiful, and now… peaceful.

“Y-you’re going to be okay, Et-Etsuko,” he murmurs. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, quick and chaste, barely touching the skin with his bloodied and cracked mouth before he’s looking up at the smell of something that was… so evidently  _ food.  _ It made his stomach ache and cringe in pain at even thinking about it, and he certainly doesn’t  _ want  _ food, but he’s not going to refuse, not when his mind’s so clear and it’s the only thing he can think of, the only thing he can  _ crave. _

It’s his own exhaustion, he thinks, and he hadn’t even noticed it until the Witch had pulled him away, but in here now, horribly warm, with Etsuko lying on the couch and his hand threaded in her silky locks, he simply tries to relax himself. It’s entirely too stressful, entirely too  _ much,  _ and the thoughts he has overtaking him make him want to scream, to shout, to cry so wildly and desperately-

He thinks of bloody sketches and charcoal pencil and black paint and he thinks of ripping and crumpling his  _ face  _ to shreds, or pressing it between his hands until his head popped, but still- it’s a thought for another time. Although he does try his absolute fucking best not to show the  _ enmity  _ of his situation on his face when the Witch returns, but he’s sure it’s in his eyes and-

_ Etsuko. Goddammit, Etsuko. You need… I need you. Please. _

 

* * *

 

 

He has a shit poker face - that, she can tell all too easily. And here she was, having pulled together some soup and buns for him and her own daughter! (Okay, so maybe she’d reheated it, but all the same - she’d made it only a few days ago). She lets her lips twist into a sour expression as she sets the tray down on the coffee table and looks over the little Executioner curled up on the floor at the foot of the couch.

“Hmm . . .” she peers into his hand and finds herself hiding a grin at the violent twist his thoughts had taken. What a surprise; the little Etienne was . . .  _ vengeful _ . Not that she was super surprised, but for somebody as scrawny as him . . .

She can’t help but poke fun at the situation, snapping her fingers and yanking one of the thoughts out of his head so quickly he seems to visibly jerk at the sensation. It builds up like a dark cloud on her fingertips, so tainted, growing darker as she looks over it, it seems.

“You certainly do hold some animosity towards that little Vigilante, don’t you? But you’re going to lose it if you keep sketching him over and over again like you do. I highly recommend you pick a better subject. Isn’t making art of the one you fancy more in style these days? Unless there’s some hidden lust in this story,” she teases as she switches the thought from one hand to another and blows a puff of air into it, enough to make it disperse. She looks back to Etienne, still so disoriented, and she reaches into his mind again and twists it up until his attention is back on  _ feeding himself _ , at least without getting sick.

“You really should consider your strength, if you want to hurt somebody,” she says as she sits down next to Etsuko, raising a hand to weave through her daughter’s bloody, bloody hair. “You need energy and muscle if you want to be an intimidating foe, or enough of one to get him on the lynching stand. As you are now? You just look like a scrawny little nobody.”

She leans back as Etienne glares at her, but she can’t care; all she notices, with a shift next to her, was how Etsuko was trying to tired pull closer to her, making the Witch’s expression soften with a smile.

He’s almost tempted to smile when the Witch pulls Etsuko’s head into her lap, sitting there, smiling at the young woman with what seemed like all the care in the world. He knew that etsuko didn’t mention their relationship- not to him- but he’d always known they were close. The way Etsuko’s hand fists in the fabric of the Witch’s skirt as her eyelashes flutter is enough that a tiny quirk of his lips becomes noticeable, before he’s looking away and back to the floor.

He dwindles on it, the Witch’s words, the inflection she’d seemed to hold when speaking, and he only gives a slight grimace in response, turning over the words in his head. “What do you know about my strength?” He questions sharply, swallowing as his hand begins to shake, fingers curling around his own wrist as he raises the strength to look up and meet eyes with the woman. “I’m stronger than you think. Don’t… don’t undermine me.” And it’s enough that he gets it out so blithely, perhaps enough that she’ll take him seriously- he knows she doesn’t. It’s far too apparent in the curve of her eyebrow when she meets his gaze.

She hums softly as she strokes Etsuko’s hair back behind her ear, and he’s not surprised when he sees his… Etsuko shift, before she lets her eyes slip open to look up into the Witch’s face, her own so mirrored by weariness. He instinctively follows her eyes, before his own gaze settles on watching Etsuko as she shifts ever so slightly, at the way all three of her eyes blink curiously as she looks around. He wonders if perhaps he should feel… invasive, because with how things are, he’s the outsider in this situation, and perhaps it would’ve been better if he hadn’t persisted.

But it’s a relief to him all at once, to see Etsuko waking, to see her looking around, as his eyes settle on the food the Witch had set on the small table beside them, and instinctively, he reaches forward, because he’s too hungry to bear and he feels so horribly  _ empty  _ that he’s not sure he could hold himself up any longer without it.

“Do you recognize where you are, sweetheart?” the Witch asks with a smile as Etsuko looks up at her. She can see her trying to twist to look around, but she holds her steady, and gives her a nod. “With your  _ magic _ , I mean. Can you tell?”

Etsuko closes her eyes once more, and the Witch has to push off shivers as she feels her daughter’s magic spread into the house, the surrounding area . . . “W-we’re in the Mayor’s house,” she says.

The Witch smiles and pulls her up, letting her sit against her as she holds her close. “Very well done, sweetheart.”

“Mother . . .”

“You collapsed, dearie. You haven’t been eating; you worry your mother to death, and to think your sisters do nothing to stop you,” she says as she pulls away and brushes Etsuko’s hair back. “I warmed up some soup for you and your . . . friend, sweetheart. You should eat.”

Etsuko shakes her head. “I’m not hungry, Mother.”

“But you know it’s important,” she says. When Etsuko continues to hold that same expression, she opts to take the moment to push into her head, to influence her thoughts just to keep her aware of how  _ hungry _ her body is. She can feel Etsuko fighting back against her influence - a good attempt, a  _ strong _ one - but she just pushes it further, and feels her daughter’s thoughts give way as she slumps against her and sighs.

“I’ll . . . eat in a moment,” she says. “You’re warm, Mother.”

“I always am, you know this.”

“Just . . . missed it. I-I lost my lighter.”

“Did you, now? Sweetheart, do you want me to find you another?”

Etsuko pulls back and gives her a desperate nod, and Katrina can really tell - she needs to set something alight about as badly as she needs to feed. So she nods, and finally lets her go and pushes her away until Etsuko slides off the couch and takes a bowl of soup from her tray.

“Good girl,” is all she says, leaning forward to pat her daughter on the head with a smile. “Good girl, Etsuko.”

It’s enough that he manages to hold himself back, to look over at Etsuko, at how horribly small she seems, and rest a steady hand on her shoulder, looking over her, at the clothes that are now hanging loosely on her frame, her bloody hair draped over one shoulder, shirt sliding off one shoulder.

“Etsuko,” he whispers to her. “I-I’m glad you’re okay.” He can tell how shocked she is to see him- he supposes it isn’t without reason, but nonetheless…

He’s pleased when she begins to eat, because God knows she badly needed it. And he wasn’t exactly one to talk, but he was… a little worried about her, to be fair. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him, hadn’t helped her through all this, hadn’t even visited or said hello in weeks… no, he’d been too preoccupied. Too preoccupied with  _ hate  _ and too ignoring of love. 

Though there was a small part of him that couldn’t help wondering if the Witch was right when she’d said ‘hidden lust.’ A small, rather despicable part of himself that he wanted to erase from where it was pooling in his brain, because now that the thought was there, it wasn’t going to  _ leave.  _ And he knows that it might be wrong to involve himself so strongly with his rage, but…

In a way, he needed it.

And he needed it more than Etsuko, often. 

But now, it was her that needed him and he couldn’t take off and leave her. Not again. Because hell if he’d ever let anyone hurt her. She… she couldn’t be hurt, couldn’t die, because if she died, he’d have to die too. And there’s something that wonders if it would be better to give up on everything in general… if it would be better to just let go and leave. Or die. But he can’t do that- because there are far too many things he has yet to do and far too many things he hasn’t done.

“You’re . . . skinnier,” she says with a touch to his hand, soft in her touch but knowing her eyes looked so much fiercer. “I told you those weeks ago that I wanted to help you, didn’t I? Don’t close me out. It’s harder to help you if you do.”

“Yes,” her mother replies behind her, “And I’d hate to think you’re neglecting my poor Etsuko. You still haven’t impressed me yet, and that begs the question how much you really  _ care _ .”

“Mother, he’s-” she looks back to the Witch, but a part of her knows that her mother’s right - Etienne had been so distracted with Xavier, nearly obsessed, and she hates to demand any more of his time, but . . . but there was a difference between working towards something and fantasizing - and she worries that he’s doing too much of the latter, and becoming the weaker for it.

She looks back to him and reaches forward, to take his face in a hand and turn it towards her. “You know how much I like it when  _ you’re _ frustrated with  _ me _ . . . but I don’t awfully like the reverse. You need to eat. You need to help yourself. And you need to let me in.”

“Unless you’d rather neither of us help you?” the Witch asks. Etsuko can’t hide a soft glare from being tossed her way.

“No more radio silence, please. It’s . . . hard enough facing things on my own as they are, and also wanting to help  _ you _ ,” she says. “So let me help, and stop leaving me at home to worry. You know that’s not my type of thing . . . I’d rather you drag me through flames than take them on alone. At least in that case, we know one of us is stronger against their sting.”

“I…” he starts, but he finds himself swallowing anyway, running a tongue over rough lips because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain to her what exactly has been going on in his head or what exactly is running through his mind now, but he wants to content her, at least somewhat, and so he holds back his trepidation and sighs. “Okay. I… I c-can try. I-I’ll make it work. P-promise.”

And then he’s glancing back down at the half eaten bowl of soup and the bread he’d torn chunks from with his hand, and the thought of it makes him all too sick because he feels like Xavier’s glaring at him, and that drunken scowl of his seems permanently imprinted on the back of his eyelids and… it’s just too much. It’s too much, and as much as he wants to let Etsuko in, he’s not sure he can.

It’s that thought that causes him to quickly growl out. “You… you can’t t-touch him. Only  _ me. I’m  _ the only one that’s a-allowed to touch him!” And he doesn’t mean for it to come out quite as sharp, quite as defensive as it does, but it’s too late after the words slip his lips. He doesn’t know how to reply or what to say now, and he simply looks up to Etsuko with an apologetic glare as he clenches his teeth and bites his lip and gazes about, desperately…

He presses a kiss to her cheek and then hauls himself to his feet. “I’m s-sorry, Etsuko. I-I love you. Okay?”

“How  _ dare _ you talk to my daughter like that!” and then Etienne’s falling to his knees, and she looks behind her to see her mother jumping up. “You speak of such justice, yet you’ll treat my daughter so  _ poorly _ ? You’ll take her help or so help me, perhaps  _ you _ will be on the lynching pole!”

“Mother, let it go!” she leaps up and takes her hands, quickly, hoping to hold her back before she . . . before she does something stupid or rash or both. “Etienne hasn’t been- he’s been struggling. You need to be kind to him.”

“I will be kind to him when he shows it in turn. He’s a fool, and you know it-”

“ _ Mother _ ,” she insists as she lowers her face and glares at her beneath red lashes, all three sets. “Mother, let it  _ go _ .”

The moment is tense for a moment, heated - it was so rare for her to lash out, even with so much stress on her shoulders, but she can’t help but do it, considering how . . . how  _ angry _ she is. She knows how upset she should be, how abandoned and . . . lonely . . . she’d been feeling with her sister changing and Etienne distracted and all of it, but she can’t help but want Etienne just to be okay. He’s too thin, and getting thinner, and his house is so badly in shambles and his hands are always covered in ink and blood and all manners of thing, but still, she . . . she just . . .

“He’ll move in with me,” she says suddenly, too stuck in her words to realize just how  _ wide _ her mother’s eyes had suddenly become. “That way I can be sure that he gains his strength, and he can be sure I gain mine. And then he won’t be allowed to do anything more foolish, and he can gain a more balanced mentality. Then you might find something praiseworthy of him, wouldn’t you?”

She looks back to Etienne, who’s staggering back to his feet, and simply offers him a nod. “Would that suffice, Sir Etienne . . .?”

“L-live with you?” He asks, loud enough and surprised enough that he’s probably going to fall back on his ass. “I-I… w-won’t your sisters mind?” He questions her, letting their eyes meet as he gives a glance from her, to the Witch, and back again. “I…” He swallows. “I’d l-like that. W-with you. It would… h-help.”

He extends a hand to her, ruffles her messy red hair and looks at her. “Is this e-effective immediately or s-should I go clean my p-place out?” He’s not sure exactly what else demands to be said, but he’s focused only on Etsuko, only on the thought of how Jeannette will react to this and how Etsuko’s sisters already seem to have a disdain for him…

Still, all he can really do is meet eyes with her and watch as she finishes eating, as she presses back against her mother and curls up at the edge of the couch, looking up at him with such glowing eyes.

“H-how will this work?”

“Well . . .” she looks to a nearby window, to how the night was beginning to fall. “You couldn’t get your things tonight, with how dangerous it is to be walking like this . . . but you could stay with me tonight, and I could explain to my sisters why you’re there. It shouldn’t be a problem . . . our house is fairly large. Inherited it from Natasha’s father, though she won’t say much more than that,” she mutters near the end.

“Besides that . . . well, we have a spare bedroom if you’d like it, but I have an awfully big bed . . . you could stay with me, if you wanted,” she says. “I don’t think anybody would ask questions in town, either; enough strange things have been happening that they shouldn’t really ask why or what’s going on. They’re more focused, after all, on the serial killers and th-that arsonist.”

Just the thought of them - her sister, and the arsonist that was doing a decent job of framing her - made her feel overwhelmingly tired again. She sinks back against her mother, curling against her, and is relieved to feel her hands circling around her body and pulling her closer. “Nighttime is when I thrive, so I’m afraid I cannot let you remain here,” the Witch says calmly, “But I might aid you in returning to your abode. Etsuko, promise me you’ll rest when you get home - no playtime with your sisters, understand?”

“But-”

“Enough said,” is the response, though she finds it quite unnecessary and a touch annoying when the Witch says, “Misha will be completely  _ devastated _ , I imagine, not being able to lay a hand on you, but that’s the price she pays for not taking care of my  _ favorite _ daughter.”

The implications of the Witch are enough to make Etienne’s cheeks flush red, even burn a bit from embarrassment. He… definitely wasn’t going to mention it to Etsuko, although if they were… living together, then it would be somewhat of a problem later on. But for now… for now he allows himself to relax a bit, be grateful, try and focus on just the fact that Etsuko’s gonna be there with him and that he’s not going to lose her.

“I-I’ll make sure she r-rests,” Etienne manages to say, giving a curt nod to the Witch when Etsuko finally stands. “It’s clear she n-needs it,” and that’s it. He’s swallowing back his trepidation and emotion as he focuses on the gorgeous redheaded girl in front of him with a smile. “Y-you ready then?”

She doesn’t have to say anything- he knows. And this time, he’s going to take care of her. Just like he used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how tf is this so long o.e


End file.
